THE  BOY 
SETTLER 


EBWIN-L-  SABIN 


See  page  120. 
THUNDER    HORSE    GRABBED    VAINLY    AT    HIM    AND    WHEELED    IN    PURSUIT. 


THE   BOY   SETTLER 

OR 

TERRY  IN  THE  NEW  WEST 


BY 

EDWIN  L.  SABIN 

AUTHOR  OP  "BAR  i  BOYS,"  "RANGE  AND  TRAIL,"  "SCARFACB  RANCH."  ETC. 


Come  muster,  my  lads,  your  mechanical  tools. 
Your  saws  and  your  axes,  your  hammers  and  rules; 
Bring  your  mallets  and  planes,  your  level  and  line. 
And  plenty  of  pins  of  American  pine : 

For  our  roof  we  will  raise,  and  our  song  still  shall  be. 

A  government  firm,  and  our  citizens  free. 

— Old  Song. 


NEW  YORK 

THOMAS  Y.    CROWELL  COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT,  1916, 
BY  THOMAS  Y.  CROWELL  COMPANY. 


S//5- 

Wrus 


PRAIRIE   PEOPLE 


TERRY  RICHARDS The  Boy  Settler 

His  FATHER Who  Has  a  Strange  Adventure 

His  MOTHER Terry's  Best  Help 

GEORGE  STANTON  . . .  Who  Becomes  Terry's  New  Brother 

VIRGIE  STANTON Rescued  by  Terry 

FALL  LEAF Delaware  Chief 

GENERAL  JACKSON Terry's  Delaware  Friend 

THUNDER  HORSE A  Troublesome  Kiowa 

MR.  and  MRS.  STANTON Good  Neighbors 

SOL  JUDY Another  Friend  in  Need 

HARRY  REVERE Terry's  Partner 

SHEP Brave  Dog 

CAPTAIN  STEUART      *|  ^£    .     TT    0    _      , 

X    Of  the  U.  S.  Cavalry 

LIEUTENANT  ARNOLD  J 

SERGEANT  MURPHY Plains  Veteran 

BUCK  and  SPOT,  the  Old  Mare's  Colt,  the  Tame  Turkey, 
the  Half-Buffalo  Calf,  Pine  Knot  Ike,  Jim,  Ned, 
John  Bushman,  and  Other  Folk  of  More  or  Less 
Importance. 


PLACE  AND  TIME:  Kansas  Territory  of  the  New  West, 
in  Emigrant  Days. 


M695184 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.    WESTWARD  Ho I 

II.     INDIAN  FRIENDS 16 

III.  THE  ACCIDENT  AT  WILDCAT  CREEK      ,    30 

IV.  THE  NEW  HOME  .      .      .      .      .      .43 

V.  AN  ALARM  IN  THE  NIGHT      ...    59 

VI.  TERRY  MEETS  THE  ENEMY      .      .      .71 

VII.    HARD  WORK  AHEAD 87 

VIII.  THE  BROTHERHOOD  OF  THE  SNAKE      .  102 

IX.  Two  AMAZING  ENCOUNTERS   .      .      .  113 

X.  TERRY  FINDS  A  PARTNER  .      .      .      .134 

XI.  THE  PARTNER  GETS  BUSY      .       .       .  147 

XII.  HARRY  RIDES  THE  COLT    .      .      .      .161 

XIII.  HUNTING  WITH    THE  DELA WARES      .  174 

XIV.  MORE  LIVESTOCK  FOR  THE  RANCH      .  191 
XV.     ON  THE  WAR  TRAIL 205 

XVI.  SHEP  TO  THE  FORE  AGAIN      .      .      .221 

XVII.  A  PLAGUE  FROM  THE  SKIES    .      .      .  240 

XVIII.  NEWS  FROM    THE  WEST      ....   252 

XIX.  TACKLING  THE  TIMBER     ....  268 

XX.  THE  GIFT  OF  THE  BLIZZARD      .      .      .  280 

XXI.  FATHER  RICHARDS  WAKES  UP      .      .  295 


THE  BOY  SETTLER 


CHAPTER  I 

WESTWARD  HO! 

"WHOA,  Buck!  Spot!  Haw,  now!  Haw!  Gee, 
Buck!  Gee-up!" 

Such  was  the  tune  lustily  sung  by  young  Terry 
Richards,  trudging,  whip  in  hand  and  big  boots  on 
feet,  at  the  fore  wheel  of  the  wagon. 

It  was  a  large,  white-hooded  wagon,  drawn  by 
two  oxen,  one  red,  the  other  spotted.  The  red  ox 
was  Buck,  the  spotted  ox  of  course  was  Spot. 
Framed  in  the  puckered  front  end  of  the  wagon  hood 
was  sitting  Terry's  mother;  and  the  wagon  was 
stuffed  full  of  household  furniture  and  of  provisions 
and  farming  material,  ending  with  a  chicken-coop  hung 
at  the  rear.  Behind  followed  the  old  mare  and  her 
colt,  with  Terry's  father  riding  the  mare.  And  at 
Terry's  heels  paced  Shep;  good  old  Shep,  the  black 
shaggy  dog. 

The  oxen  tugged  and  grunted,  their  neck-yoke 
creaked,  the  wagon  lurched  and  groaned,  the  three  hens 
and  the  rooster  pitched  about  and  cried  "  Ka-daw-ka !  " 
the  colt  whinnied,  and  as  boss  driver  of  the  outfit  Terry 

i 


2  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

in  his  muddy  boots  shouted:  "Gee!  Whoa!  Gee! 
Yip  with  you,  Spot !  Yip !  " 

This  was  a  great  trip  for  Terry  Richards.  Now  in 
the  middle  of  April,  1858,  he  and  his  mother  and 
father,  with  Shep  and  the  oxen  and  the  chickens  and 
the  mare  and  her  colt  had  been  on  the  road  almost  two 
weeks,  from  Kansas  City,  westward  bound  to  the  farm 
that  his  father  had  located  out  beyond  the  frontier  in 
this  new  Territory  of  Kansas.  Clear  from  Ohio  had 
they  come,  first,  to  St.  Louis,  then  by  steamboat  up  the 
Missouri  River  to  Kansas  City,  where  Mr.  Richards 
had  left  them  while  he  went  ahead  to  spy  out  the  land. 

He  had  found  the  place  that  he  wanted — 160  acres 
of  Government  land  to  be  had  for  $1.25  an  acre.  He 
had  filed  on  it,  and  had  put  up  a  log  cabin,  and  then  he 
had  hastened  back  to  get  the  rest  of  the  family.  They 
had  loaded  the  wagon  full,  and  here  they  were,  nearing 
"  home." 

By  all  accounts  the  home  was  going  to  be  a  fine  one. 
Terry  could  see  it  all  with  his  eyes  shut,  for  his  father 
had  described  it  again  and  again.  There  was  a  cold 
clear  spring  just  back  of  the  cabin,  and  off  yonder,  cut- 
ting through  the  land,  a  creek ;  there  was  a  large  grove 
of  trees,  in  easy  sight  from  the  house ;  there  were  acre 
after  acre  of  grassy  prairie,  a  little  rolling  but  mostly 
flat,  and  in  the  distance  some  hills.  There  was  a  new 
town  called  Manhattan,  south  at  the  mouth  of  a  river 
called  the  Big  Blue;  and  southwest  there  was  a  new 
fort,  named  Fort  Riley  and  garrisoned  by  United  States 
soldiers,  to  fight  the  Indians.  But  from  the  cabin  there 
was  not  a  house  in  sight,  and  westward  stretched  a 


WESTWARD  HO!  3 

regular  Indian  country — although  Terry's  father  was 
certain  that  the  wild  Indians  would  not  bother  the  white 
settlers  who  minded  their  own  business. 

Fun?  Well,  Terry  rather  expected  a  lot  of  fun,  in 
the  new  home.  His  father  had  killed  a  deer  in  the 
timber  by  the  creek,  and  every  night  turkeys  flew  there 
to  roost ! 

At  first  the  road  from  the  Missouri  River  above 
Kansas  City  had  been  lively  with  other  settlers  and 
their  wagons,  outward  bound,  and  with  freighting  out- 
fits hauling  enormous  loads  of  supplies.  For  during 
this  year  and  near  a  half  score  years  to  come,  ere  the 
railroads  got  through,  the  rolling  country  west  from 
the  Missouri  River,  into  Kansas  and  Nebraska,  was 
seamed  by  the  prairie  schooners  of  settler  families 
traveling  forward  to  make  their  new  homes,  like  the 
Richards  family  were,  and  by  the  long  trains  of  freight 
wagons,  distributing  supplies  to  town  and  store  and 
fort. 

The  Indians  yet  seen  by  Terry  in  this  Kansas  Ter- 
ritory had  not  amounted  to  much.  They  had  been 
tame  Indians,  living  in  cabins  and  tents  on  the  reserva- 
tions. First  there  were  the  Delawares,  and  next  the 
Pottawattamies — Eastern  Indians  who  had  been  moved 
here  by  the  Government.  Some  of  them  worked  in  the 
fields,  like  white  people ;  but  the  majority  appeared  to 
be  lazy  and  dirty  and  shiftless,  and  spent  their  time 
begging  from  the  settlers'  wagons.  It  did  not  seem 
like  the  genuine  Indian  West  until  the  reservations  had 
been  left  behind,  and  most  of  the  wagons  had  dropped 
off,  and  the  road  stretched  on,  toward  the  sunset,  with 


4  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

no  settlements  in  sight,  the  wolves  barking  at  night, 
and  Terry  driving  the  oxen  alone  except  for  his  mother 
and  father  and  Shep.  Now,  Terry  firmly  believed,  the 
wild  Indians  might  be  encountered  at  almost  any  time. 

When  he  wanted  his  oxen  to  turn  to  the  right  he 
ordered:  "Gee,  Buck!  Spot!"  When  he  wanted 
them  to  turn  to  the  left  he  ordered:  "Haw,  Buck! 
Spot ! "  They  were  smart  and  knew  what  he  meant. 
It  was  easier  than  driving  by  lines.  The  whip  was  one 
that  he  and  his  father  had  made  from  a  hickory  stock 
about  four  feet  long  and  a  braided  buckskin  lash  about 
the  same  length;  but  the  whip  was  only  a  threat,  for 
the  oxen  were  not  to  be  struck  except  when  they  balked 
or  acted  up.  This  was  very  seldom.  They  were  will- 
ing pullers.  How  they  could  jerk  the  heavy  wagon  out 
of  a  mudhole  I 

Another  night's  camp  was  drawing  near.  The  sun 
was  low  above  the  range  of  hills  to  the  west,  toward 
which  the  narrow  winding  road,  its  black  mud  cut  deep 
by  wagon  tracks,  gradually  led.  On  either  side  was 
the  prairie,  green  with  grass  and  spangled  with  early 
flowers.  Here  the  prairie  wolves  or  coyotes — yes,  and 
the  big  gray  wolves,  also — prowled,  waiting  to  feed 
on  the  oxen  and  horses  that  died  along  the  way.  A 
coyote  crossed  the  road  right  ahead  of  the  team.  Shep's 
back  bristled ;  he  growled. 

Terry's  father  trotted  to  the  front,  on  the  mare,  to 
pick  out  a  camping  spot.  All  the  day  the  prairie 
schooner  of  another  settler  on  the  march  westward  had 
occasionally  been  sighted,  before,  as  it  toiled  up  grade 
and  down,  at  three  miles  an  hour;  but  Terry  had  not 


WESTWARD  HO!  5 

been  able  to  catch  it,  for  Buck  and  Spot  were  not  to  be 
hurried.  Three  miles  an  hour,  or  twenty  miles  a  day, 
was  enough,  and  they  knew  it.  Now  from  the  crest  of 
a  little  rise  Terry  saw  that  the  other  wagon  had  halted, 
to  make  camp ;  and  he  was  glad.  Probably  his  father 
would  decide  to  camp  at  the  same  place,  and  they  would 
meet  these  people.  That  was  one  of  the  excitements  of 
the  trip:  camping  in  company  with  fellow  emigrants 
and  learning  all  about  them — where  they  came  from 
and  where  they  were  going,  and  so  forth  and  so  forth. 

The  other  wagon  had  been  halted  at  one  side  of  the 
road,  in  a  shallow  draw.  By  the  time  that  the  Richards' 
outfit  arrived,  the  oxen  had  been  unyoked,  a  fire  started, 
and  a  tent  was  being  put  up.  The  campers  were  a  man 
and  woman  and  two  children.  Yes,  hurrah!  A  boy 
about  Terry's  age,  and  a  little  girl.  It  would  be  fun 
to  have  another  boy  around,  for  a  while,  with  whom  to 
swap  yarns  of  the  trail. 

"  How  are  you?  "  greeted  Terry's  father,  checking 
the  old  mare  at  the  camp,  while  driving  the  oxen 
Terry  followed  him  in.  "  Is  there  room  for  another 
party?" 

"  Howdy,  howdy,"  heartily  responded  the  man,  paus- 
ing in  the  job  of  erecting  the  tent.  Terry  and  the  boy 
exchanged  stares,  sizing  one  another  up.  "  Plenty  of 
room.  'Light  and  unhitch.  It's  powerful  lonesome  in 
these  parts,  at  night,  and  we're  glad  of  your  company." 

He  was  a  full-bearded,  pleasant  faced  man,  in 
costume  much  like  that  of  Terry's  father :  felt  hat  and 
flannel  shirt,  and  trousers  tucked  into  heavy  cowhide 
boots.  The  boy  was  wiry  and  snapping  black-eyed, 


6  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

and  wore  a  huge  pistol  thrust  through  a  leather  strap 
around  his  waist.  Against  the  wagon  was  leaning  a 
long-barreled  muzzle-loading  rifle.  Still,  the  strangers 
were  not  any  better  fixed  than  they,  Terry  decided ;  for 
his  father  had  a  Sharpe's  rifle,  and  Colt's  revolver  too, 
and  Terry  carried  in  his  pocket  a  new  folding  knife 
with  blade  of  six  inches.  And  in  the  wagon  was  a 
shot-gun. 

"  All  right,  Terry.  Turn  aside,  off  the  road,"  bade 
his  father. 

"Buck!  Spot!  Gee!  Gee  with  you!  Hep!  Hep! 
Whoa-oa !  Now  whoa !  "  And  as  skillfully  as  the  best 
Terry  landed  the  lumbering  wagon  in  a  good  location 
off  the  trail.  No  black-eyed  boy  could  beat  that ! 

"  Yes,  it's  terrible  lonesome,  here  on  the  prairie  at 
night,"  spoke  the  woman,  from  the  fire,  as  Mrs. 
Richards  climbed  out.  '  'Specially  when  the  wolves 
howl,  or  when  the  wind  gets  to  blowing.  Come  over 
and  make  your  fire  next  to  ours.  There's  plenty  fuel. 
Our  boy'll  show  yours." 

That  sounded  neighborly  indeed.  The  first  thing  to 
do  was  to  tie  the  mare  to  a  wagon  wheel.  While  the 
oxen  were  unyoked  and  turned  out  to  grass  and  water 
Mrs.  Richards  sorted  her  cooking  things  from  the 
wagon.  Then  while  his  father  hauled  forth  the  tent 
and  bedding,  Terry  was  supposed  to  gather  fuel  and 
start  the  fire.  Then  the  tent  was  to  be  put  up,  and  the 
bedding  laid  inside.  And  then  Terry  must  bring  water 
for  his  mother,  and  lead  the  mare  to  water  and  picket 
her  out.  And  then  he  must  help  his  mother  at  the  fire, 
while  his  father  made  things  shipshape  in  the  tent  and 


WESTWARD  HO!  7 

the  wagon,  for  the  night.  This  was  the  regular  routine. 
But  before  the  oxen  had  been  unyoked  the  black-eyed 
boy  raised  a  shout. 

"  Indians !    I  see  some  Injuns  coming !  " 

Sure  enough,  down  the  trail,  out  of  the  west,  a  file 
of  horsemen  were  approaching.  They  were  wrapped 
in  blankets  and  buffalo  robes,  and  bore  lances  which 
floated  tufts  like  plumes.  Yes,  they  were  Indians. 
There  must  have  been  twenty  of  them.  Shep  seemed 
to  smell  them,  for  he  growled.  The  old  mare  pricked 
her  ears,  gazing. 

"You  don't  think  they're  wild  Indians,  do  you?" 
quavered  the  woman  at  the  fire. 

"  Oh,  no,  no,"  promptly  answered  Terry's  father. 
"  They  look  like  reservation  Indians,  back  from  a  hunt, 
probably." 

"  Then  they  won't  bother  us,  I  reckon,"  added  the 
other  man. 

"  They'd  better  not,"  swaggered  the  black-eyed  boy, 
"  unless  they  want  to  lose  their  scalps.  See  my  pistol  ?  " 
he  invited,  of  Terry. 

"  George !  You  stay  right  here  and  let  them  alone," 
ordered  his  mother. 

George  winked  at  Terry,  and  grinned. 

"  I  was  just  fooling,"  he  said.  "  I  won't  hurt  'em. 
But  I'm  not  afraid  of  'em,  anyhow."  Terry  was  not 
certain  whether  George  was  in  earnest  or  was  pretend- 
ing. A  boy  with  such  black  eyes  was  likely  to  be  pretty 
spunky. 

The  Indians  did  not  continue  on  down  to  the  wagons. 
They  stopped  on  the  farther  side  of  the  creek  that  cut 
the  trail,  and  appeared  to  be  making  camp  there. 


8  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

"  Will  you  get  me  some  wood  now,  Terry,  please?  " 
reminded  his  mother. 

"  I'll  show  you  where  there's  a  lot  of  it,  dry — and  I 
know  where  some  buffalo  chips  are,  too,"  volunteered 
the  black-eyed  boy.  "  Bring  your  gunny-sack  and  ax." 

So  fishing  out  a  gunny-sack  and  grabbing  the  ax, 
Terry  followed  him,  away  from  the  camp  and  up  the 
shallow  draw. 

"My  name's  George  Stanton;  what's  yours?"  de- 
manded the  black-eyed  boy. 

"  Terry  Richards.  We're  from  Ohio.  Where  are 
you  from?" 

"  Indiana.  We're  going  on  out  west,  clear  into  the 
Indian  country." 

"  So  are  we,"  informed  Terry. 

"How  far?" 

"  Beyond  the  Big  Blue  River.  My  father's  filed  on 
1 60  acres." 

"  That's  where  we're  going,  too,"  asserted  George. 
"  But  we're  going  to  Fort  Riley  first,  to  'tend  to  some 
business.  Where's  your  land  located  ?  " 

Terry  was  hazy  as  to  this,  because  he  never  had 
been  there;  and  he  soon  found  that  George  did  not 
know  much  more.  However,  they  agreed  that  maybe 
they  would  live  near  enough  to  one  another  so  that  they 
could  have  fun  together. 

"  Is  that  your  dog?  "  queried  George.  "  What's  his 
name?" 

"  Shep.  He'll  tackle  anything,  too.  He  keeps  watch 
nights." 

"  We  don't  need  a  dog.  I've  got  my  big  pistol," 
answered  George.  "  Ma's  afraid  of  it.  Are  you?  " 


WESTWARD  HO!  9 

"  Naw,"  laughed  Terry.  "  Fve  shot  guns.  I've  shot 
my  father's." 

"  Well,  you  can't  shoot  this  one,  and  neither  can  any- 
body else.  'Cause  why  ?  'Cause  it  won't  shoot.  See  ? 
It's  busted." 

And  so  it  was — "  busted."  It  had  a  hammer  whittled 
from  wood  and  painted  black.  But  it  looked  like  a 
shooter. 

"  There's  a  log  you  can  chop  at,"  directed  George, 
briskly.  "  That's  where  we  got  our  dry  wood.  Give 
me  your  sack  and  I'll  fill  it  with  buffalo  chips.  I  found 
a  lot  of  'em,  in  a  hollow  yonder  among  some  willows 
where  buffalo  have  been  standing  out  of  the  flies." 

Away  he  went,  with  the  sack.  Terry  chopped,  and 
presently  George  came  back,  the  sack  bulging  with 
buffalo  chips — which  were  the  dried  refuse  deposited 
by  buffalo.  These  chips  burned  hot,  holding  the  fire 
and  making  no  smoke.  Buffalo  chips  were  better  than 
wood,  for  cooking. 

In  the  twilight  under  a  golden  sky  they  trudged  to 
the  camp,  lugging  their  fuel.  Shep  growled  and 
bristled,  for  a  couple  of  the  Indians  had  ridden  in,  to 
visit.  One  was  a  middle-aged  man,  wearing  an  eagle's 
feather  in  his  straight  black  hair.  He  had  a  square, 
dark,  wrinkled  face  and  just  the  suspicion  of  a  coarse 
scraggly  moustache ;  his  face  was  not  at  all  unpleasing, 
although  rather  stern.  The  other  Indian  was  much 
younger,  handsome  and  slender.  They  were  armed 
with  rifles. 

"  I  guess  they're  Delawares,"  whispered  George. 
"  Say  did  you  ever  read  *  Last  of  the  Mohicans,'  by 
Cooper?" 


io  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

"Of  course,"  replied  Terry,  dumping  his  wood 
beside  the  little  fire  that  had  already  been  started  from 
twigs  and  scraps.  But  before  he  could  say  more,  his 
father  called. 

"  Take  the  old  mare  down  to  water,  Terry,  and  then 
we'll  stake  her  out." 

"  You'll  have  to  water  her  at  the  creek,"  put  in 
George,  "  so  as  not  to  roil  the  spring.  The  creek's  near 
the  Injuns,  but  we  don't  care." 

"  Say  '  Indians/  not  *  Injuns/  George,"  corrected  his 
mother.  "  And  don't  you  interfere  with  them,  but  come 
right  back." 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  answered  George.  "  Delawares  are 
all  right ;  they're  friends  of  the  whites,"  he  asserted,  to 
Terry,  as  they  started.  But  now  his  little  sister  ran 
after. 

"I'm  going,  too,"  she  cried. 

"Virginia!"  cautioned  her  mother — who  certainly 
seemed  to  have  her  hands  full  keeping  track  of  the 
family.  "  You  be  careful,  and  stay  close  to  brother." 

"  Yes,  'm,"  gaily  piped  Virginia.  "  My  name's 
Virgie ;  what's  yours  ?  "  she  announced,  to  Terry,  as 
she  took  hold  of  her  brother's  hand. 

Terry  told  her.  She  was  a  fair  little  girl,  the  very 
opposite  of  George  in  spite  of  her  tan.  She  wore  a  red- 
and-white  checked  calico  frock,  and  was  bare-footed 
and  bare-headed. 

"  And  I'm  seven  going  on  eight,"  she  added,  proudly. 

"  Remember  Uncas  and  Chingachgook,  in  *  Last  of 
the  Mohicans '  ?  "  queried  George,  of  Terry,  as  they 
proceeded,  Terry  leading  the  old  mare,  her  colt  ambling 


WESTWARD  HO!  II 

behind.  "They  were  same  as  Delawares.  Jiminy, 
wasn't  that  a  fine  book,  though  ?  I've  read  it  six  times. 
It's  funny  to  have  the  Delawares  in  Kansas.  Wonder 
if  they  didn't  hate  to  be  moved." 

"  Well,  they  got  crowded  out  by  the  whites,  back 
East,"  replied  Terry.  "  My  father  says  all  the  tame 
Indians  ought  to  be  put  in  an  Indian  Territory  by  them- 
selves, where  they  can  make  their  own  laws  and  not  be 
bothered  by  the  whites." 

"  They  can't  mix  with  the  wild  Indians,  of  the 
plains,"  declared  George.  "  The  plains  Indians  won't 
have  'em.  The  plains  Indians  can  lick  'em,  too,  mostly 
— except  the  Delawares.  My  father  says  a  Delaware 
can  lick  a  Cheyenne  any  day ;  but  these  Pottawattamies 
and  Kaws  and  Osages  aren't  much  good.  I'd  like  to  see 
a  Cheyenne  or  a  Sioux — a  regular  wild  one  who  lives 
out  in  the  plains  or  mountains." 

"  We  may  see  more  than  we  want  to,  if  they  come 
raiding  some  day,"  reminded  Terry. 

"  I  wouldn't  be  afraid,  if  my  pistol  was  fixed,"  boldly 
claimed  George. 

They  had  reached  the  creek  a  little  below  the  Indian 
camp  on  the  opposite  side.  The  camp  was  a  lively 
place.  Half  a  dozen  lodges  of  canvas  and  hide  had 
been  erected;  Indian  women  were  cooking  with  pots 
over  fires,  a  few  children  were  running  about  playing, 
the  men  were  lounging  here  and  there,  and  ponies  were 
grazing.  Some  of  the  Indians  wore  a  civilized  costume : 
the  women  in  torn  calico,  the  men  in  old  trousers  and 
shirts  and  hats.  For  the  Delawares,  like  the  Pottawat- 
tamies and  Kaws  and  Kickapoos  and  others  of  the 


12  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

Kansas  tame  Indians  were  being  taught  by  agents  and 
schools  to  live  as  much  as  possible  like  white  people. 

Terry  hauled  the  snorting  old  mare  to  the  water's 
edge,  and  waited  for  her  to  drink.  He  and  George  and 
Virgie  stared  across  at  the  camp.  The  next  thing  they 
knew,  the  mare  gave  an  extra  loud  snort,  Shep  growled 
fiercely  and  slunk  against  his  master's  legs,  and  a  voice 
said  gutturally : 

"Umph!    How  much?" 

A  tremendously  ugly  Indian  stood  beside  them,  his 
hand,  with  long  dirty  nails,  outstretched  to  grasp  the 
mare's  lead-rope.  He  did  not  look  at  all  like  the 
Delawares  or  Pottawattamies  whom  Terry  had  seen. 
His  black  hair  was  cut  straight  across  the  front,  in  a 
bang;  one  half  was  braided,  but  the  other  half  hung 
only  to  his  ear.  His  face  was  painted  and  pock  pitted ; 
and  his  breath  smelled  strongly  of  liquor. 

"How  much ?" 

Terry  jumped,  snatching  the  rope  away  from  the 
hand. 

"  No,"  he  stammered,  shaking  his  head. 

"You  trade.  Me  big  Injun.  How  much?"  And 
the  pock-faced  Indian  lurched  toward  him  again. 

"No!"  repeated  Terry.  "I  won't  sell,  or  trade, 
either." 

"  Humph !  You  no  trade,  mebbe  I  take,"  threatened 
the  Indian,  with  a  scowl.  "  Mebbe  I  kill,  huh  ?  White 
boy  no  trade,  white  boy  die;  Injun  take  pony,  little 
pony,  scalp,  all."  And  with  surprising  quickness  he 
made  a  spring  at  Terry  and  the  rope. 

Terry  leaped  backward ;  and  at  the  same  instant  the 


WESTWARD  HO!  13 

old  mare  flung  up  her  head  with  a  snort,  jerking  the 
rope  from  Terry's  hand  and  sending  him  sprawling. 
Away  galloped  the  mare,  back  for  the  wagons.  Rolling 
over  and  over,  Terry  was  aware  that  the  ugly  Indian 
had  made  a  grab  for  the  colt  as  it  wheeled  past  him — 
and  Terry  kept  on  rolling  for  fear  that  the  Indian  was 
to  make  a  grab  for  him,  next. 

But  he  heard  George  order,  shrilly : 

"  Halt !    Bang !    You  halt,  you  big  fool !  " 

Picking  himself  up,  Terry  saw  the  Indian,  swaying 
land  blinking,  held  by  the  muzzle  of  George's  dragoon 
pistol. 

"You  move,  I  shoot — bang!  Kill  Injun,"  in- 
structed George,  planted  sturdily,  and  scowling.  "  Hurt 
you,  Terry?  " 

"  No,"  declared  Terry.  "  And  he  didn't  get  the  mare 
or  colt.  Who  is  he?" 

"  He  almost  got  you,  though,"  asserted  George. 
"  You  follow  the  horses  while  I  keep  him  covered." 
And — "  Gwan  home  with  you,"  ordered  George,  to  the 
Indian. 

Suddenly  the  Indian,  who  had  been  steadily  glaring, 
his  black  eyes  like  two  narrow  coals,  made  another 
spring,  as  swift  as  any  panther ;  was  upon  George  in  a 
jiffy,  wrenched  the  pistol  from  his  grasp,  and  seized 
him  by  the  shoulder.  George  let  out  one  horrified  yelp, 
and  twisted  in  vain. 

"  Uh !  "  grunted  the  big  Indian.  "  Pistol  no  shoot. 
Cut  off  white  boy's  head  now."  And  holding  George 
he  swayed  about  while  tucking  the  pistol  into  his 
blanket  as  if  preparatory  to  drawing  his  scalping-knife. 


14  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

This  may  have  been  an  Indian  joke,  but  it  was  no 
joke  to  George  or  Terry — no,  nor  to  little  Virgie.  Her 
voice  uplifted  in  a  shrill  wail  of  anger  and  dismay;  and 
bravely  clinging  to  the  Indian's  blanket  she  pummeled 
him  as  hard  as  she  could,  demanding : 

"  You  let  my  brother  go !  Let  him  go,  quick !  Don't 
you  dare  hurt  him." 

Terry  was  uncertain,  just  for  a  moment,  whether  to 
dive  and  light  on  the  Indian,  and  help  George  that  way, 
or  whether  first  to  yell  for  stronger  help ;  when,  with  a 
wriggle  and  a  furious  volley  of  kicks,  by  aid  of  Virgie, 
George  had  almost  upset  the  Indian,  had  peeled  out  of 
his  jacket,  and  picking  up  Virgie  was  legging  it  down 
the  road. 

Away  ran  George,  and  after  him  lunged  the  Indian, 
faster. 

"  Run !  "  cried  Terry,  with  a  cheer.  Then  with  sud- 
den thought  he  added :  "  Sick,  Shep !  Sick  him ! 
Take  him,  boy !  " 

That  was  encouragement  enough  for  Shep.  He 
knew.  He  had  been  watching  the  struggle,  his  ears 
pricked.  With  eager  whine  forth  he  darted.  In  a  few 
more  strides  the  big  Indian  would  have  had  George, 
and  Virgie  too,  but  Shep  was  there  like  an  arrow. 
Terry  had  scarcely  run  at  all,  following  the  Indian  and 
Shep,  when  Shep  launched  for  the  Indian's  legs,  and 
through  the  flapping  blanket  had  sunk  his  teeth  into 
the  bare  sinewy  calf  beneath. 

Shep  hung  hard ;  down  pitched  the  Indian,  to  hands 
and  knees ;  Shep  nimbly  leaped  aside ;  up  staggered  the 
Indian,  blazing  mad,  and  in  response  to  Shep's  snarling 
teeth  out  came  the  Indian's  rusty  knife. 


WESTWARD  HO!  15 

"Shep!"  called  Terry,  in  alarm,  running  on  to 
rescue  in  earnest. 

But  rushing  past  him  somebody  interrupted.  There 
was  the  thud  of  another  Indian  figure,  a  grunt  and  a 
powerful  swing  of  an  arm,  and  as  flat  as  a  pancake  was 
knocked  the  first  Indian,  to  lie  stunned  and  motionless. 

"  Humph !  "  panted  the  elder  of  the  two  Delawares 
whom  Terry  had  seen  at  the  wagons — for  he  it  was. 
"  Bad  Injun.  Him  drunk  Kiowa.  No  good." 

He  still  carried  his  rifle,  but  he  had  not  used  it.  His 
fist  had  been  enough. 


CHAPTER  II 

INDIAN  FRIENDS 

THAT  was  a  sudden  and  a  very  welcome  interruption. 

"  Much  obliged,"  panted  Terry,  arriving,  to  the 
Delaware. 

"  Heap  dog,"  praised  the  Delaware,  eying  Shep, 
who  was  slinking  up,  hair  bristling,  nose  outstretched, 
to  sniff  at  his  late  foe.  The  Delaware  stooped  and 
picked  up  George's  pistol,  which  had  fallen  from  the 
Kiowa's  blanket  folds.  "  Pistol  no  good,"  he  grunted. 
"  Dog  better.  How  much  ?  " 

"  For  what?  "  asked  Terry. 

"Dog.    Trade?" 

"  You  couldn't  buy  that  dog  for  ten  thousand  dol- 
lars," grinned  Terry.  "  Heap  dog.  No  sell  him." 

"  He  hit  him  an  awful  swat,  didn't  he ! "  wheezed 
George,  who  had  turned  at  Shep's  snarling  charge, 
and  had  seen  what  had  followed.  "  But  Shep  is  what 
saved  me,  I  guess.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  Shep  that 
Injun'd  have  got  me.  Wonder  what  he'd  have  done. 
He  isn't  a  Delaware."  And—"  Did  you  kill  him?  "  he 
asked,  of  the  Delaware. 

"  No  hurt  much,"  grunted  the  chief,  stirring  the 
prostrate  figure  rudely  with  his  moccasined  toe.  "  Fist 
good  'nough  for  Kiowa.  Get  alive  soon.  No  be  drunk 
then." 

16 


INDIAN  FRIENDS  17 

"Cracky!  That's  a  Kiowa,  he  says,"  exclaimed 
George.  "  They're  bad  Injuns,  regular  wild  ones,  of 
the  Southwest  plains." 

They  gazed  down  in  some  awe  at  this  "  regular 
wild  Injun  " — who  lying  there  sprawled,  with  blood- 
shot eyes  half  open  and  face  pock  pitted,  did  not  present 
a  very  inspiring  appearance. 

Little  Virgie,  frightened,  clung  to  her  brother's 
trousers,  and  gazed,  too. 

"  I  don't  like  him,"  she  whispered. 

The  other  Delaware,  who  was  the  young  one,  only  a 
little  older  than  Terry  or  George,  came  in,  bringing 
George's  coat.  He  spoke  better  English  than  the  chief. 

"  You  from  that  camp,"  he  said.  "  This  my  uncle — 
Fall  Leaf — him  big  chief.  Me  name  General  Jackson. 
What  name — you  ?  " 

"  My  name's  Terry  Richards  and  his  is  George 
Stanton,"  answered  Terry. 

"She  got  'um  name?"  queried  General  Jackson, 
pointing  to  Virgie. 

"  That's  his  sister;  her  name's  Virgie  Stanton." 

"  He  got  'um  name  ? "  pursued  General  Jackson, 
pointing  at  Shep. 

"  Yes.    His  name's  Shep.    He's  my  dog." 

"Good  dog.    Heap  good  dog.    SeH'um?    No?" 

"  Not  on  your  life,"  asserted  Terry,  stanchly. 

"  That's  my  pistol,  too,"  hinted  George. 

"  Good.  No  shoot.  Use  fist  on  Kiowa,"  agreed 
General  Jackson. 

Fall  Leaf  handed  back  the  pistol  to  George,  with  a 
shrug  of  the  shoulders  which  indicated  that  he  did  not 
think  much  of  such  a  weapon. 


18  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

"  Whiskey  bad;  make  Injun  foolish,"  spoke  General 
Jackson.  "  When  Kiowa  wake  up  now,  he  forget/' 

"What's  he  doing?  Visiting  you  folks?"  asked 
George. 

"  Yes.    Make  visit ;  eat,  drink ;  go  home  quick." 

"Where  does  he  live?" 

"  'Way  off ;  no  Delaware ;  Kiowa,"  and  General 
Jackson  pointed  to  the  southwest.  "Him  name 
Thunder  Horse.  Bah!" 

"  I'm  glad  he's  not  a  Delaware,"  said  George,  to 
Terry. 

Fall  Leaf  grunted,  and  held  out  his  hand. 

"  Good-by,"  he  bade.  "  Come  'gain,  mebbe.  Heap 
dog,"  for  he  seemed  to  have  a  great  admiration  for 
Shep.  "  Fight  'urn  Injun  in  leg !  "  And  he  and  General 
Jackson  laughed. 

They  all  shook  hands,  except  little  Virgie,  who 
shrank  and  declined. 

"  Good-by,"  said  the  boys. 

"Where  you  go?" 

"  Out  beyond  the  Big  Blue." 

"  Make  'um  home  ?  "  queried  Fall  Leaf. 

"  Yes." 

"  Delaware  been  hunting.  Next  time  go,  mebbe 
see  you." 

"  All  right.    Stop  in,  any  time,"  they  replied. 

Leading  Virgie,  the  boys  proceeded  down  the  trail, 
to  camp.  With  a  final  growl  at  the  prostrate  Kiowa, 
as  if  saying:  "We  fixed  you!"  Shep  trotted  after. 
The  two  Delawares  went  back  to  their  ponies,  leaving 
the  Kiowa  lying.  Glancing  behind  them,  the  boys  saw 


INDIAN  FRIENDS  19 

him  presently  move,  and  sit  up,  and  rubbing  his  head 
stagger  to  his  feet. 

"  Wonder  if  he'll  hold  a  grudge  against  us  and  try  to 
hurt  us,  sometime,"  remarked  Terry.  "  I'd  hate  to 
have  him  after  us  again." 

"  Aw,  they  said  he  was  drunk  and  wouldn't  remem- 
ber," reminded  George.  "  But  I'm  going  to  get  this 
pistol  mended  and  be  ready  for  him  next  time." 

But  the  Kiowa  went  reeling  for  his  own  camp. 
However,  this  was  not  the  last  of  that  Kiowa;  not  by 
any  means. 

The  mare  and  her  colt  already  had  arrived  at  the 
camp — the  mare  with  her  lead-rope  dragging.  Nobody 
had  seen  the  fracas,  but  notified  by  the  mare,  who  had 
come  so  unceremoniously,  Mr.  Richards  and  Mr. 
Stanton  both  had  been  looking  anxiously,  puzzled  at 
the  group  around  the  stunned  Kiowa. 

"What's  the  matter  at  the  creek?"  demanded 
Terry's  father,  of  him.  But  little  Virgie  ran  forward 
excitedly. 

"  A  big  bad  Indian  took  George's  pistol  and  chased 
him  and  that  dog  bit  him  right  in  the  leg  and  then 
another  Indian  knocked  him  over  and  killed  him  dead," 
she  announced,  with  so  many  "  him's  "  that  nobody 
could  understand  what  she  was  driving  at. 

"  How's  that  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Stanton,  sharply.  "  Who 
chased  whom  and  who  knocked  whom  over?  " 

"  We  were  watering  the  horses  and  an  Indian  wanted 
to  buy  them,  and  when  I  wouldn't  sell  he  chased  us. 
He  wasn't  afraid  of  George's  pistol  so  I  sicked  Shep 
to  tackle  him — "  began  Terry. 


20  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

"  And  Shep  stopped  him  or  he'd  have  got  me,  but 
the  Delaware  chief  knocked  him  flat.  Can't  I  have  that 
pistol  fixed  ?  "  finished  George. 

"  I  declare !  "  exclaimed  both  mothers. 

"  Anybody  hurt?  "  queried  Mr.  Richards. 

"  Nobody  but  the  Kiowa.  He  was  drunk,  anyhow," 
answered  Terry.  "  He's  not  hurt  much,  though.  His 
name  is  Thunder  Horse." 

"  He's  a  wild  Injun — a  regular  wild  one,  pop,"  in- 
formed George.  "  But  the  Delaware  chief — you  ought 
to  have  seen  how  he  knocked  him.  Said  he  used  his 
fist  on  Kiowas,  didn't  need  to  shoot  'em.  He's  Fall 
Leaf  and  the  other  Delaware  is  General  Jackson." 

"What's  the  Kiowa  doing  there,  though?"  asked 
his  father,  keenly.  "  Any  more  of  them?  " 

"  Don't  think  so.  He's  visiting  the  Delawares.  He'll 
go  home  now.  And  we're  going  hunting  with  the 
Delawares,  as  soon  as  we  get  settled;  aren't  we, 
Terry!" 

"  Sure  thing.    They  invited  us,"  concurred  Terry. 

"  I  like  Delawares ;  don't  like  Kiowas,"  piped  Virgie. 

"  No,  nor  does  anybody  else,"  agreed  her  father. 
And  her  mother  bade : 

"  Now,  Virgie,  you  and  George  stay  right  here,  and 
don't  you  stir  a  step  away  from  the  wagons." 

"  But,  ma ! "  objected  George,  much  disgusted. 
"  There  isn't  going  to  be  any  massacre.  Those  Injuns 
are  all  friendly,  except  the  one  Kiowa,  and  who's  afraid 
of  him!  Wait  till  I  get  my  pistol  fixed!  " 

Anyway,  that  had  been  an  adventure,  and  would 
give  lots  to  talk  about.  However,  Terry,  too,  had  to 
stay  close  and  help  his  mother  at  supper. 


INDIAN  FRIENDS  21 

"  I'll  be  so  glad  when  I  have  a  stove,  again,  to  cook 
on,"  sighed  Mrs.  Richards. 

"  That  won't  be  long  now,"  encouraged  Mr. 
Richards.  "  The  first  thing  that  Terry  and  I  do  when 
we  all  get  to  the  cabin  will  be  to  set  up  your  stove  and 
you  can  begin  to  cook  right  away." 

"  And  you'll  be  as  ready  for  pie  and  such  things 
as  I  am  to  make  them,"  she  laughed. 

"  Pie ! "  exclaimed  Terry,  his  mouth  watering. 
"What  kind,  ma?" 

"  You  wait  and  see." 

"  Best  gather  some  of  that  dry  wood,  Terry,  and 
stow  it  under  cover,"  directed  his  father.  "  The  sky 
looks  like  rain,  and  we  don't  want  to  cook  breakfast 
with  wet  wood." 

Terry,  his  mouth  still  watering  at  the  thought  of  pie, 
tucked  some  breakfast  wood  in  the  wagon. 

"  They're  having  a  big  storm  up  yonder,"  called 
Mr.  Stanton,  pointing  to  the  northwest. 

"  Heap  wet,"  added  George,  slyly,  to  Terry.  "  Big 
Thunder  chief  on  rampage." 

"  Maybe  it's  Thunder  Horse,"  laughed  Terry,  refer- 
ring to  the  Kiowa. 

"  Naw,"  grinned  George.  "  He  no  like  that  kind 
water ;  heap  like  fire  water.  Hooh !  " 

The  horizon  in  the  northwest  certainly  was  black 
and  lowering,  and  by  the  time  that  supper  was  over, 
the  mutterings  of  thunder  could  be  heard.  Now  it  be- 
hooved both  wagon  parties  to  make  their  camp  secure 
for  a  stormy  night.  Terry  and  his  father  drew  the 
wagon  cover  tight  at  the  ends,  and  threw  a  rope  across, 


22  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

which  they  staked  fast  and  handed  taut,  to  hold  the 
wagon  firm.  Sometimes  these  storms  on  the  western 
prairies  blew  tremendously.  The  tent  was  tautened, 
too,  and  a  ditch  dug  around  the  edges. 

After  Terry's  mother  had  turned  in,  by  light  of  a 
lantern,  Terry  and  his  father  followed.  Already  the 
first  scud  of  the  approaching  storm  had  dimmed  the 
stars,  and  when  the  lantern  was  extinguished  the  dark- 
ness was  pitchy. 

Feeling  like  a  real  frontiersman,  Terry  snuggled  in 
his  blanket  and  quilts.  Coyotes  were  yapping,  near  at 
hand;  but  he  was  not  afraid  of  them.  A  wolf — 
sounded  like  a  big  fellow — howled  a  foraging  call, 
as  he  prowled  along  the  trail.  This  made  Shep,  curled 
against  the  tent  on  the  outside,  growl  indignantly. 
Terry  smiled.  Good  old  Shep!  He  would  guard  the 
camp.  Now  the  wind  began  to  blow  pufftly,  moaning 
and  whispering,  as  if  it  might  be  the  spirits  of  Indians 
exploring  the  white  man's  camp.  Yes,  the  rain  was 
coming,  sure.  But  who  cared,  if  only  it  did  not  beat 
through  the  canvas  and  wet  them  all. 

The  Stanton  camp  had  been  dark  and  silent,  when 
Terry  had  crawled  in.  George  and  Virgie  evidently 
were  asleep ;  and  presently  Terry  drowsed  off,  while  re- 
viewing his  tussle  with  the  big  Kiowa  and  thinking  of 
what  he  might  have  done,  but  didn't.  Those  were  fine 
Delawares,  though — Fall  Leaf  and  young  General 
Jackson.  It  would  be  fun  to  hunt  with  them.  Hee- 
yaw — and  Terry  yawned  and  began  to  dream. 

He  was  awakened  by  the  storm.  The  rain  was 
drumming  fiercely  on  the  canvas,  lashing  and  slashing, 


INDIAN  FRIENDS  23 

land  the  wind  tugged  until  the  whole  tent  strained  and 
creaked.  The  lightning  flared  white  and  dazzling, 
while  the  world  shook  to  the  bellow  of  the  thunder. 

Shep  was  howling  and  whining,  and  scratching  at 
the  flaps.  Usually  he  crept  under  the  wagon,  but  to- 
night he  was  getting  enough,  early.  By  the  lightning 
Terry  saw  his  father  sit  up,  and  get  up,  and  open  the 
flaps  a  mite;  instantly  in  squeezed  Shep,  whimpering 
gladly,  to  shake  himself,  lick  Terry's  face,  and  cuddle 
down  in  a  corner. 

"  Why,  Shep.  Poor  Shep,"  spoke  Terry's  mother. 
"Goodness,  what  a  storm!  Does  the  tent  leak, 
Ralph?" 

"  No,  but  the  ground  does,"  replied  Terry's  father. 
"  The  water's  coming  under  the  edges.  The  ditch 
has  over-flowed,  I  reckon." 

"  Jiminy !  I  should  say !  "  anounced  Terry,  sud- 
denly conscious  that  he  was  getting  wet  underneath 
instead  of  on  top.  Yes,  he  was  lying  in  a  little  puddle ! 
Huh! 

"  Well,  we'll  have  to  take  it,"  laughed  his  father. 
"If  you  don't  like  it,  Terry,  you  can  go  outside  with 
the  lantern  and  dig  the  ditch  deeper.  But  the  storm 
won't  last  long,  at  this  rate.  It's  blowing  great  guns." 

"You'd  better  move,  Terry,"  called  his  mother 
anxiously. 

"  I'd  advise  you  to  stay  where  you  are,"  bade  his 
father.  "  You've  warmed  the  puddle,  and  you're  liable 
to  get  into  a  fresh  cold  one." 

"  Guess  I'll  stay,  then,"  safd  Terry,  sleepily.  At  any 
rate,  he  was  glad  to  be  here  instead  of  out  with  the 


24  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

cattle.  And  drawing  up  his  feet,  to  curl  closer,  he 
actually  went  to  sleep  again,  to  the  tune  of  Shep's  snor- 
ing. 

When  he  awakened,  it  was  daylight;  the  sun  was 
shining,  the  storm  was  over  with,  and  the  puddle  had 
sunk  into  the  sandy  soil.  He  was  almost  dry.  Now  he 
could  tell  George  how  he  had  slept  in  the  water  and  it 
hadn't  hurt  him ;  his  father  was  already  outside,  so  was 
Shep;  and  pulling  on  his  trousers  and  boots,  out  he 
went,  too,  to  leave  his  mother  to  dress  herself. 

Everything  looked  fresh  and  bright.  Over  at  the 
other  wagon  George  and  his  father  were  busy;  and 
Terry,  washing  his  face  in  the  tin  basin,  waved  at 
them. 

"  Did  you  get  wet?  "  he  called,  to  George. 

"No,  did  you?" 

"  Not  much.  Slept  in  a  puddle,  is  all.  But  it  was 
fun." 

"  I'd  just  as  lief,  too.  Wonder  if  the  Injuns  got  wet. 
It  would  do  that  Kiowa  good  to  be  soaked  a  little." 

"  That's  right,"  answered  Terry,  with  a  chuckle. 

The  fire  was  blazing,  and  the  coffee-pot  was  on. 

"  Bring  up  the  oxen,  Terry,"  bade  his  father,  "  and 
I'll  be  opening  the  wagon  and  tent  and  spreading  things 
to  dry.  We'll  put  the  oxen  to  the  wagon  while  break- 
fast is  cooking,  so  as  to  make  an  early  start.  We  may 
have  difficulty  crossing  the  river,  after  this  rain." 

Buck  and  Spot  were  peacefully  grazing,  not  far  dis- 
tant ;  their  hides  were  washed  clean  by  the  night's  del- 
uge. The  old  mare  and  her  colt  also  were  busy  get- 
ting their  breakfast,  in  a  hurry  as  if  they  foresaw  that 


INDIAN  FRIENDS  25 

time  was  valuable.  Terry  grabbed  up  the  big  yoke, 
where  it  leaned  against  the  wagon-wheel ;  slung  it  over 
his  shoulder,  and  thrusting  his  arm  through  the  two 
bows,  started  for  Buck  and  Spot,  across  the  wet  and 
sparkling  prairie. 

They  saw  him  coming,  of  course,  and  stared  ex- 
pectantly, knowing  that  their  day's  work  was  about 
to  begin. 

"  Whoa,  Spot ;  whoa,  now,  old  fellow,"  soothed 
Terry. 

He  had  been  taught  just  how  to  do  it,  and  he  rather 
hoped  that  George  was  watching.  He  laid  one  end  of 
the  heavy  yoke  over  Spot's  burly  neck,  passed  the  half- 
circle  of  the  bow  under,  and  thrusting  the  morticed 
ends  up  through  the  holes  in  the  yoke,  slipped  in  the 
pin,  that  held  the  bow  to  the  yoke.  Then  he  let  the 
yoke  hang,  while  he  drove  Buck  beside  Spot,  who 
waited.  Buck  knew  what  was  expected.  He  sidled 
in,  to  Spot,  until  Terry  could  lift  the  yoke  and  lay  the 
other  end  on  his  neck,  also,  and  adjust  the  bow. 

Then  all  that  remained  to  do  was  to  drive  them,  a 
pair,  to  the  wagon,  where  his  father  was  ready  to  help 
him  lift  the  tongue  and  insert  it  through  the  ring  hang- 
ing from  the  middle  of  the  yoke. 

The  Stantons  were  hustling,  too;  and  after  break- 
fast camp  was  broken,  and  the  two  wagons  pulled  out 
together. 

"  We'll  probably  have  to  double  up,  at  the  ford," 
shouted  back  Mr.  Stanton,  as  he  led  out. 

Virgie  was  riding  in  their  wagon,  with  her  mother. 
Mr.  Stanton  drove  the  oxen,  and  George  dropped  back 
to  walk  with  Terry. 


26  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

Terry  cracked  his  whip. 

"  Buck !  Spot !  Hep  with  you.  Gee !  Haw— yip ! 
Go  on  with  you !  " 

Into  the  muddy  trail  the  wagon  creaked,  following 
in  the  wake  of  the  Stanton  wagon. 

"The  Injuns  haven't  started  yet;  see?"  remarked 
George.  "  Guess  they're  eating  breakfast.  Wonder 
if  the  big  Kiowa'll  remember  us  ?  " 

"  I  don't  care  if  he  does,"  stoutly  replied  Terry. 
"  Fall  Leaf '11  tend  to  him.  Get  on.  We'll  have  to  ride, 
crossing  the  creek." 

Into  the  clear  air  was  rising  blue  smoke  from  the 
Indians'  fires,  around  which  squaws  were  busy  cooking 
breakfast,  in  iron  pots.  A  number  of  the  men  were 
lounging  about,  waiting;  and  the  pony  herd  was  graz- 
ing out  a  little  way.  The  wagon  trail  for  the  west 
skirted  an  edge  of  the  camp ;  the  Delaware  dogs  began 
to  bark,  Shep  growled  and  bristled  in  answer;  and  as 
the  Stanton  wagon  lumbered  through  the  shallow  creek 
(which  was  running  swift  and  muddy)  and  on  up  the 
other  bank,  Fall  Leaf  himself  rose,  and  held  up  his  hand 
as  signal  for  it  to  stop. 

So  it  did,  at  the  camp;  and  so  did  the  Richards' 
wagon,  close  behind. 

"Crickity!  Wonder  what's  the  matter,"  spoke 
George,  tumbling  off,  and  hustling  forward  in  his  im- 
portant way.  Terry's  father  rode  to  where  Fall  Leaf 
was  speaking  with  Mr.  Stanton. 

Presently,  while  Terry  and  his  mother  curiously 
waited  on  the  seat,  Mr.  Richards  came  back. 

"  You're  needed  ahead,  Mary,"  he  spoke,  to  Terry's 


INDIAN  FRIENDS  27 

mother,  with  a  smile.  "  What  have  you  got  for  sore 
eyes?" 

"  That  borax  and  rosewater  lotion,"  said  Terry's 
mother,  triumphantly.  "  Why  ?  " 

"  One  of  the  Delaware  women  has  bad  eyes,  the 
chief  says.  Wants  us  white  people  to  doctor  her.  The 
Stantons  haven't  anything;  and  Mrs.  Stanton  seems 
afraid  of  Indians,  anyway.  Do  you  want  to  try  your 
hand?" 

"  Why,  of  course,"  declared  Terry's  mother,  turning 
and  reaching  for  what  Terry  called  her  "  wonder 
worker  " — which  was  a  little  box  that  held  various 
remedies  for  common  ailments :  a  sort  of  "  first  aid  to 
the  injured  "  kit.  Out  she  nimbly  hopped,  and  hastened 
on  with  Terry's  father.  Terry  could  stand  his  curi- 
osity no  longer;  and  leaving  Buck  and  Spot,  carrying 
his  whip  he  followed  close. 

At  sight  of  Mrs.  Richards  and  her  box,  Fall  Leaf 
gave  a  satisfied  grunt,  and  beckoning  led  the  way  to  one 
of  the  tipis.  He  opened  the  flaps,  and  motioned  to 
Mrs.  Richards  to  enter. 

"  Oh,  I  wouldn't  go  in  there  for  the  world!  "  called 
Mrs.  Stanton,  from  her  wagon. 

"Shucks!  Ma's  more  afraid  of  Injuns  than  she 
is  of  rattlesnakes,"  grunted  George,  to  Terry  "I 
can't  make  her  believe  these  are  friendly  Delawares." 
And 

"  There's  Thunder  Horse !  "  he  whispered.  "  Don't 
look  too  quick." 

"Where?" 

"  Over  there.    On  our  right." 


28  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

Terry  fairly  felt  two  eyes  burning  into  him,  and 
knew  that  they  were  the  two  eyes  of  the  Kiowa.  He 
slowly  turned  his  head  aside.  Yes,  the  Kiowa  it  was. 
He  was  sitting  on  the  ground,  as  if  he  might  not  be 
very  well;  and  how  he  was  scowling!  His  pock- 
marked ugly  face  was  set  in  a  fierce  glare  of  hatred, 
directed  straight  at  the  two  boys.  Evidently  he  did 
remember,  and  evidently  he  was  still  very  angry. 

"  I'm  glad  Shep  didn't  come,"  whispered  Terry. 

"  What's  he  going  to  do  now,  I  wonder,"  whispered 
back  George.  "  He'd  better  not  come  over  here." 

"  And  he'd  better  not  tackle  Shep,  either,"  answered 
Terry. 

For  the  Kiowa,  knowing  that  they  saw  him,  rose  un- 
steadily to  his  feet,  and  scowling  as  before  made  a  step 
toward  them. 

However,  luckily  General  Jackson  interfered.  May- 
be he  had  been  watching.  At  any  rate,  there  was  a 
quick  footfall,  behind  the  boys,  and  a  voice  said : 

"How  do  do?" 

The  young  Delaware,  General  Jackson,  extended  his 
hand,  to  shake. 

They  shook,  and  exchanged  grins  with  him. 

"  Thunder  Horse — very  mad,"  ventured  Terry,  with 
jerk  of  his  head  at  the  Kiowa. 

"  No  hurt  you,"  replied  General  Jackson,  quickly. 
And  he  shouted  angrily  at  the  Kiowa,  and  motioned 
with  his  hand.  At  this,  Thunder  Horse,  with  a  parting 
scowl,  turned  and  lurched  out  of  sight. 

"  Your  mudder  ? "  queried  General  Jackson,  of 
Terry,  pointing  at  the  tipi  within  which  Mrs.  Richards 
had  disappeared. 


INDIAN  FRIENDS  29 

"Yes,"  said  Terry. 

"  My  mudder.  She  got  bad  eyes.  Mebbe  you 
mudder  she  cure  'urn,"  proceeded  General  Jackson. 

"  She  surely  will,"  asserted  Terry,  loyally.  "  My 
mother  big  medicine." 

"  Good,"  nodded  the  young  Delaware. 

Out  of  the  tipi  now  came  Mr.  Richards  and  Mr. 
Stanton,  next  came  Terry's  mother,  and  Fall  Leaf 
followed. 

"Did  you  cure  her?"  asked  Terry,  anxiously,  as 
the  party  approached,  on  the  way  to  the  wagons  again. 

His  mother  smiled  and  nodded  brightly. 

"  It  did  her  lots  of  good,  anyway.  I  left  her  some 
of  the  lotion,  to  use.  The  poor  thing!  She  could 
scarcely  see,  because  of  sties." 

Terry  knew  exactly  how  pleased  his  mother  was; 
iio thing  tickled  her  more  than  to  "  doctor  "  somebody. 
And  the  chief  seemed  pleased,  too,  for  he  shook  hands 
all  around  again,  and  bid  the  party  good-by  with  many 
a  friendly  wave. 

"  Well,  we've  made  friends  of  those  Delawares,  at 
least,  Mary,"  remarked  Terry's  father,  as  the  wagon 
started  on.  "  And  they  may  be  friends  in  need,  some 
day." 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  ACCIDENT   AT   WILDCAT   CREEK 

THE  road  was  sticky,  in  places,  but  the  day  was 
glorious;  and  about  mid-morning  they  came  in  sight 
of  a  line  of  timber,  crossing  the  way  before. 

"There's  the  Big  Blue,"  called  Terry's  father. 
"  Now  we'll  see  if  we  can  cross  it."  And  on  the  mare 
he  loped  ahead,  to  reconnoiter. 

He  was  waiting  when  the  wagons  drew  up.  The 
road  dipped  into  the  hither  shallows,  disappeared,  and 
emerged  again  on  the  farther  bank,  to  continue  across 
the  rolling  prairie  to  the  other  side  of  the  broad  valley. 
But  between  the  two  banks  rolled  a  heavy  muddy  tide, 
swelled  by  the  night's  rain. 

Mr.  Stanton  rode  to  consult  with  Mr.  Richards; 
Mrs.  Stanton  and  Terry's  mother  peered  qut  from  the 
wagon  hoods,  and  with  George  and  Virgie  (who  was 
gaily  playing  along  on  foot,  carrying  a  great  rag  doll) 
Terry  left  his  oxen  and  trudged  to  join  in  the  council. 

"  Jiminy !  She's  a-booming,  isn't  she !  "  exclaimed 
George,  excited,  as  the  river  unfolded  close  at  hand. 
"  Can  you  swim  ?  I  can." 

"  Sure,"  said  Terry. 

"  I  can't,"  piped  Virgie,  beginning  to  weep.  "  And 
mamma  can't,  either.  Do  we  have  to  stay  here  ?  " 

30 


ACCIDENT  AT  WILDCAT  CREEK   31 

"  No,"  answered  George.  "  Don't  cry.  Shep  can 
swim  and  we'll  put  you  on  his  back  and  he'll  take  you 
right  across ;  won't  he,  Terry !  " 

"  Of  course,"  assured  Terry. 

"  And  mamma,  too  ?  " 

"  You  bet.    She  can  ride  on  one  of  the  oxen." 

This  pleased  Virgie,  and  she  had  high  hopes  again. 

The  crossing  did  look  rather  formidable.  The 
current  ran  swirling  and  dark ;  and  here  were  the  two 
high,  heavy  wagons  to  be  hauled  through.  Terry's 
father  rode  in,  on  the  mare,  until  the  water  was  above 
his  knees;  he  pushed  on  a  little  further,  until  well  out 
toward  the  middle.  The  water  lapped  half  way  up  his 
thighs.  The  colt  gazed  after  and  whinnied  uneasily, 
prancing  along  the  water's  edge.  Mr.  Richards  forced 
the  old  mare  until  it  seemed  that  she  was  swimming; 
but  just  as  Terry  gave  a  gasp  of  alarm  and  his  mother 
uttered  a  little  cry,  the  mare  began  to  climb  higher  and 
higher,  and  streaming  with  the  water  she  bore  him  out 
and  clambered  with  him  safely  up  the  opposite  bank. 
He  waved  his  hand  triumphantly,  and  turned  back, 
coming  in  the  same  manner  that  he  went. 

"  It's  a  hard  bottom,"  he  called,  as  he  arrived  in  the 
shallows  again.  "  We  can  make  it  but  we'll  have  to 
double  up." 

"  We'd  better  put  a  rope  on,  hadn't  we?  "  suggested 
Mr.  Stanton.  "  And  pay  out  with  it  so  as  to  hold  the 
wagons  up-stream." 

"  Yes,  sir.  If  you'll  get  out  your  rope  we'll  join 
the  two.  Where's  our  rope,  Terry  ?  The  large  one." 

Terry  fished  out  from  the  wagon  the  stout  rope  that 


32  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

they  carried  for  emergencies  (it  was  the  same  with 
which  they  had  guyed  the  wagon  down,  for  the  storm), 
Mr.  Stanton  had  fished  out  his,  and  now  knotted  the 
two  together. 

"  You're  ahead.  We'll  send  you  over  first,"  pro- 
posed Mr.  Richards,  to  him.  "  Bring  up  Buck  and 
Spot,  and  the  chain,  Terry." 

"  We  have  a  chain,"  said  Mr.  Stanton.  "  I'll  get 
it." 

Buck  and  Spot  were  uncoupled  from  the  Richards 
wagon,  and  Terry  drove  them  forward,  to  where  Mr. 
Stanton  was  waiting,  in  front  of  his  own  span,  with 
the  heavy  ox  chain  in  his  hand.  The  chain  was  hooked 
to  Buck  and  Spot's  yoke,  and  stretched  back  between 
them,  to  be  hooked  by  the  other  end  to  the  yoke  of  the 
Stanton  span. 

Terry's  father  meanwhile  had  fastened  an  end  of 
the  rope  to  the  rear  axle  of  the  wagon,  and  was  carrying 
the  other  end  to  a  tree  which  stood  on  the  bank,  con- 
veniently just  above  the  ford. 

"  How  are  your  oxen  ?  Pretty  steady  ?  "  queried  Mr. 
Stanton. 

"  Steady  as  a  rock,  sir,"  assured  Mr.  Richards. 
"  I'll  ride  the  mare  over,  as  a  toll  for  them.  They'll 
follow.  The  boys  can  pay  out  the  rope,  if  you'll  do 
the  driving.  Do  you  want  to  sort  your  load?  The 
bottom  things  are  liable  to  get  wet  ?  " 

"  No,  sir.  We  travel  ready  for  this  kind  of  thing. 
Perishable  stuff  on  top." 

"  All  right.  Then  go  ahead.  Now,  you  two  boys 
have  got  to  tend  to  the  rope.  Pay  out  around  the  tree, 


ACCIDENT  AT  WILDCAT  CREEK       33 

as  we  go,  and  keep  the  rope  just  taut  enough  to  hold 
the  wagon  across-current  and  keep  it  from  slewing." 

"  We  will.    Come  on,  George,"  bade  Terry. 

"  Climb  in,  Virgie,"  directed  her  father ;  and  he  lifted 
her  beside  her  mother,  and  climbed  aboard  himself, 
whip  in  hand.  The  seat  was  roomy  enough  for  the 
three. 

Mr.  Richards  rode  into  the  river,  on  the  mare. 

"Now!  Yip!  Yip  with  you!  Buck!  Spot! 
Bonny !  "  shouted  Mr.  Stanton,  and  his  lash  cracked. 

The  four  oxen  obediently  strained,  with  heads  low. 
Creaking,  for  the  water's  edge  rolled  the  wagon. 

"  Give  the  rope  slack  until  we're  well  out,"  shouted 
back  Mr.  Richards,  to  Terry  and  George. 

Without  hesitating,  Buck  and  Spot  splashed  into  the 
water;  after  them  plashed  Bonny  and  Ned,  the  Stan- 
ton  oxen.  All  four  snorted  and  grunted  a  bit,  as  the 
water  reached  their  bellies,  but  they  kept  on,  to  the  en- 
couragement of  Mr.  Stanton's  voice  and  cracking  lash. 
They  had  forded  rivers  before  this,  of  course,  on 
the  trail  out  from  the  Missouri ;  but  none  so  rapid  and 
muddy. 

The  wagon  settled  deeper,  to  the  hubs,  and  over,  and 
now  the  current  clutched  at  the  straining  oxen's  flanks. 
Their  eyes  bulged,  and  as  they  surged  forward  they 
snorted  and  blew  the  spray.  Mr.  Stanton  shouted  lust- 
ily; for  if  the  wagon  stopped  its  tires  might  sink  into 
some  soft  spot  and  stick  fast.  With  the  water  up  to 
the  wagon-box,  the  wagon  began  to  slew  down-stream. 

The  slack  of  the  rope  straightened.  Terry's  father 
looked  anxiously  behind,  as  if  in  signal,  and  also  to 
•watch  the  oxen  and  wagon. 


34  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

"  Now !  Hold  hard,  and  pay  out,  George,"  uttered 
Terry,  with  grip  on  the  rope,  beyond  the  tree. 

The  rope  had  been  wound  twice  around,  for  friction. 
The  tree  trunk  was  worn  smooth,  as  if  it  had  been  used 
as  an  anchor,  before.  Braced,  and  holding  hard,  the 
two  boys  let  the  rope  slip  foot  by  foot  as  the  wagon  pro- 
ceeded. The  current  dragged  at  the  rope,  bending  it 
in  a  curve  where  it  entered  the  water;  and  once  in  a 
while  it  whipped  almost  free  when  the  wagon  gave  a 
jump  forward. 

"  Easy  with  her,"  grunted  George. 

"  Easy,"  responded  Terry,  likewise  grunting  with 
the  strain  and  care.  "  She  isn't  stuck,  is  she  ?  " 

In  mid-stream  the  wagon  seemed  to  hang  for  a  mo- 
ment; the  water  was  well  up  against  the  box,  tugging 
to  swing  the  wagon  down  with  the  current,  and  the  cur- 
rent itself  eddied  high  against  the  oxen's  sides,  even 
washing  their  backs. 

"Yip!  Buck!  Bonny!  Yip!  Out  with  you!" 
shouted  Mr.  Stanton ;  and  his  lash  hissed  over  the  blow- 
ing, panting  team. 

Were  they  swimming?  Would  they  make  it? 
George  cried  excitedly,  answering  the  question. 

"  They're  pulling  out !    Hooray !  " 

"Hooray!"  cheered  Terry.  And  the  rope  slipped 
another  few  turns. 

The  old  mare,  bearing  Mr.  Richards,  who  twisted 
in  his  saddle  to  look  behind  him,  was  climbing  higher; 
and  following  close,  Buck  and  Spot  and  next  Bonny 
and  Ned,  also  climbed  higher,  for  the  water  began  to 
recede  down  their  wet  hides.  Then  the  wagon 


ACCIDENT  AT  WILDCAT  CREEK        35 

emerged,  little  by  little,  until  at  sign  of  lifted  hand  from 
Terry's  father  it  halted.  He  rode  around  and  cast  off 
the  rope  from  the  rear  axle.  The  crossing  had  been 
accomplished.  Good ! 

Plashing  through  the  shallows,  the  dripping  wagon 
and  oxen  and  Mr.  Richards  emerged  upon  the  bank  and 
proceeded  on,  up  the  trail,  until  they  might  halt  again, 
in  safety.  Little  Virgie  peered  around  the  hood  and 
waved  her  rag  doll  at  the  two  boys. 

But  no  time  was  to  be  wasted  in  bragging.  Terry's 
father  and  George's  hastened  to  unhook  the  oxen,  and 
turn  them  about  and  start  them  back  for  the  Richards' 
wagon.  Now  Mr.  Richards  led  the  way,  as  before ;  and 
wading  in  to  his  waist,  Mr.  Stanton  urged  the  oxen 
ahead.  He  stood  ready  to  wade  further,  if  necessary; 
but  the  four  oxen  continued  obediently,  with  noses  out- 
pointed for  the  opposite  shore. 

"  Haul  the  rope  in,  boys,"  called  Mr.  Richards,  "  so 
we  can  use  it  on  this  other  wagon." 

"  Terry,"  he  said,  when  the  team  had  been  put  to 
the  wagon,  and  the  rope  attached  as  before,  "  you  can 
do  the  driving,  this  time.  George  and  I'll  stay  over 
here,  to  manage  the  rope,  and  if  you  get  in  trouble  I'll 
ride  out  at  once  and  help  you.  But  you'll  have  no 
trouble.  Just  keep  the  team  headed  for  that  dead  tree, 
and  you'll  land  where  you  belong.  It's  hard  bottom,  if 
you  keep  the  ford.  You  can  do  it,  can't  you?  " 

"  Of  course,"  asserted  Terry. 

"  I  can  do  it,"  proposed  George,  eagerly.  "  I  know 
how  to  drive.  Let  me  drive  and  he  can  stay  with  the 
rope." 


36  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

"  No,  siree,"  stoutly  protested  Terry.  "  That's  my 
job."  And  for  fear  that  it  might  be  taken  from  him  he 
hustled  for  the  wagon  and  climbed  aboard.  Drive 
across  ?  Certainly  he  would ! 

"  How'll  /  get  over?  "  he  heard  George  appeal,  as  if 
struck  with  the  sudden  thought. 

"  I'll  carry  you  on  the  mare,"  answered  Mr.  Rich- 
ards. 

"  Well,  I  could  swim,  anyhow,"  bluffed  George,  con- 
fidently. 

"  Go  ahead,  Terry,"  bade  his  father. 

"  Now,  Terry !  don't  you  get  me  wet !  "  laughed  his 
mother,  a  little  anxiously  nevertheless. 

"Buck!  Spot!  Ned!  Hep!  Haw!  Hep  with 
you!" 

The  oxen  required  no  guidance  from  the  mare. 
They  forged  right  along,  and  with  occasional  "  Haw !  " 
and  crack  of  whip  Terry  kept  them  headed  slightly  up, 
lining  for  the  dead  tree.  It  was  great  fun,  to  be  perched 
here  on  the  seat,  taking  his  mother  and  the  wagon 
across.  It  was  a  little  ticklish,  too,  as  the  water  rose 
higher,  and  the  wagon  swayed,  and  the  oxen  blew 
spray  and  snorted,  and  there  in  mid-stream  the  outfit 
seemed  to  stick,  just  for  a  moment. 

"  Spot !  What's  the  matter  with  yuh !  Yip,  now ! 
Yip!  Buck!  Bonny!  Ned!  Hi! "  exhorted  Terry; 
and  on  lurched  the  wagon,  through  the  deepest  place — 
and  the  danger  was  past. 

Virgie,  on  the  bank  before,  was  waving  her  doll  and 
cheering;  and  Mr.  Stanton  stood  prepared  to  rush  to 
the  rescue.  But  now  the  water  was  lessening  in  depth ; 


ACCIDENT  AT  WILDCAT  CREEK       37 

Buck  and  Spot  were  clambering  gladly  ever  higher; 
and  so  were  Bonny  and  Ned ;  and  the  trail  was  only  a 
few  wagon-lengths'  distant.  They  made  it,  as  easy  as 
pie — dragging  the  rope  which  Mr.  Richards  and  George 
had  let  go. 

Through  the  ford  followed  the  old  mare,  bearing 
double — George,  gaily  riding  behind  the  saddle,  cling- 
ing fast  to  Terry's  father. 

"  You  almost  got  stuck,  didn't  you  ? "  accused 
George,  breathlessly.  "  Looked  like  it." 

"  No,  I  didn't/'  denied  Terry.  "  We  didn't  stop 
once.  Shucks.  'Twasn't  anything  at  all." 

"  There  comes  the  colt,"  laughed  Mr.  Stanton,  point- 
ing. 

Sure  enough ;  finding  himself  abandoned,  the  frantic 
colt  had  at  last  plunged  in,  and  wading  and  swimming, 
while  his  mother  whinnied  shrill  encouragement,  was 
landed  down  stream.  Much  rejoiced,  he  galloped  to  his 
mother  for  congratulations. 

Well  done,  everybody! 

"  I  wasn't  afraid !  I  wasn't  a  bit  afraid,"  declared 
Virgie,  capering  about.  "  I  liked  it." 

"  Do  you  want  to  overhaul  the  things  and  see  what 
got  wet  in  the  bottom  of  the  wagon?"  asked  Mr. 
Richards,  of  Terry's  mother. 

"  No,  I  don't  think  so.  We  ought  to  go  on,  oughtn't 
we  ?  Isn't  there  another  river  to  cross  ?  " 

"  Yes.  Wildcat  Creek,  at  what  they  call  the  upper 
ford." 

"  You're  going  up  that  way,  are  you  ?  "  remarked 
Mr.  Stanton,  while  he  hooked  his  oxen  again,  to  his  own 


38  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

wagon.  "  Well,  I've  got  to  go  to  Fort  Riley,  by  the 
main  road." 

The  main  road  bore  off  to  the  southward,  presently ; 
and  here  the  two  wagon  outfits  parted. 

"  I'll  see  you  on  the  ranch,  Terry,"  promised  George. 
"  We'll  be  only  five  or  ten  miles  from  you,  pop  says. 
Wait  for  me  before  you  go  hunting  much." 

"  I  will,"  engaged  Terry.  "  Good-by.  Good-by 
Virgie." 

"  Good-by." 

And  with  parting  waves  the  two  wagons  separated. 
The  Stantons  followed  the  main  road  southward,  for 
the  Kansas  River,  and  for  Fort  Riley  on  west;  the 
Richards'  wagon  turned  to  the  north,  more,  and 
launched  straight  across  the  trackless  prairie,  through 
the  valley  of  the  Big  Blue. 

This  seemed  to  Terry  more  like  it — more  like  being 
a  real  western  pioneer.  Here  they  were,  with  their 
wagon,  traveling  all  alone,  making  their  own  trail, 
just  as  if  they  were  the  first  white  people  into  the 
country.  The  sun  was  bright  and  glowing,  the  prairie 
was  green  and  in  places  carpeted  with  bright  flowers, 
a  little  breeze  blew  gently,  Mr.  Richards  dried  off 
and  so  did  the  wagon  and  oxen;  and  best  of  all, 
soon  after  crossing  Wildcat  Creek  they  all  would  be 
"  home  "  where  Mrs.  Richards  could  start  in  making 
pie  on  her  stove  in  the  new  cabin. 

It  was  after  noon  when  they  came  in  sight  of  Wild- 
cat Creek — at  least,  in  sight  of  the  willows  and  cotton- 
woods  which  fringed  it. 

"  I  wish  I  was  as  sure  of  this  ford  as  I  was  of  the 


ACCIDENT  AT  WILDCAT  CREEK       39 

other,"  quoth  Terry's  father,  calling  to  Mrs.  Richards. 
"  It  was  all  right,  the  last  time  I  tried  it." 

"Where  is  it?" 

"Head  for  that  big  cottonwood,  Terry,"  directed 
his  father.  "  You'll  find  a  wagon-track  there,  if  I'm 
not  mistaken,  where  I  brought  in  a  load  of  stuff  when 
I  built  the  cabin." 

He  loped  on,  to  reconnoiter  as  before.  Halted,  he 
beckoned  for  Terry  to  come  along. 

"Goodness,  but  that  doesn't  look  very  inviting, 
does  it !  "  commented  Terry's  mother,  peering  in  doubt. 

This  was  the  ford,  evidently;  an  old  wagon  track 
led  into  the  water,  and  out  again  on  the  other  side. 
But  the  creek  seemed  high.  It  had  spread  beyond  its 
usual  limits,  and  was  coursing  by,  heavy  with  mud  and 
as  thick  as  a  paste.  Terry  figured  that  he  could  throw 
a  stone  across  it,  all  right;  but  the  wagon  wasn't  a 
stone. 

"  Hadn't  we  better  wait,  Ralph?  "  proposed  Terry's 
mother,  dubiously.  "  It  will  go  down  again.  I  don't 
like  the  looks  of  it.  Do  you?  " 

"  It  looks  worse  than  it  is.  But  I'll  ride  in  a  way,  and 
find  out." 

So  in  he  urged  the  old  mare.  She,  too,  seemed 
afraid,  and  trod  very  gingerly,  snorting  at  the  new  ad- 
venture. However,  the  water  did  not  rise  so  high 
against  her  as  had  the  water  in  the  Big  Blue ;  and  from 
the  middle  Mr.  Richards  called  back  cheerily. 

"We  can  make  it.  Get  aboard,  Terry,  and  drive. 
Wait  till  I  put  the  rope  on,  again,  so  as  to  hold  you 
steady." 


40  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

Terry  drove  into  position.  He  ordered  Shep  into 
the  wagon,  and  climbed  to  the  seat  once  more.  His 
father  hoisted  the  chicken  coop  higher.  Shep,  his  fore 
feet  on  the  coop,  stood  gazing  out  expectantly. 

"  Head  so  as  to  land  in  those  other  tracks,  Terry," 
bade  his  father.  "  I'll  stay  you  with  the  rope." 

This  looked  easy ;  nothing  as  compared  with  the  Big 
Blue,  where  they  had  to  double  up.  Terry  drove  in 
confidently;  but  several  times  he  felt  the  wagon  lurch 
under  him  and  settle  by  the  side,  as  if  the  bottom  were 
softer  than  they  had  figured.  Probably  there  were 
spots  of  mud  or  quicksand.  The  heavy  water  hit  the 
wagon  box  hard,  and  the  wagon  swayed  and  trembled. 

"  Oh,  Terry !  "  implored  his  mother,  when  now  the 
wheels  on  the  up  side  sank  into  a  hole  and  the  wagon 
careened  dangerously.  The  oxen  were  almost  carried 
off  their  feet. 

"  Keep  going,  Terry !  "  shouted  his  father.  "  Don't 
stop.  Use  the  whip." 

"Buck!  Spot!  Hep!  Haw!  Haw,  Buck!  Hep 
with  you ! "  cried  Terry,  and  swept  the  span  with  his 
lash. 

They  tugged  nobly,  did  Buck  and  Spot.  The  wagon 
stuck — careened — creaked  alarming — the  water  poured 
in — Buck  slipped  and  momentarily  disapeared,  but 
came  up  again;  and  suddenly,  just  as  the  wagon 
moved  again 

"  Terry!    Watch  out!  "  exclaimed  his  mother. 

Terry  glanced  up-stream;  floating  sluggishly,  and 
slowly  whirling  over  and  over,  a  large  snag,  part  of  a 
half-drowned  tree,  was  bearing  down  for  them.  One 


ACCIDENT  AT  WILDCAT  CREEK   41 

end  was  going  to  strike  them,  sure,  unless  he  pulled 
on. 

He  yelled  loudly  to  the  struggling,  blowing  oxen,  and 
desperately  laid  the  lash  on,  thwacking  their  tense  backs. 
Well  they  responded,  good  old  Buck  and  Spot,  as  if 
they  knew  the  danger.  The  wagon  forged  ahead ;  but 
after  all,  the  end  of  the  tree  struck  it  at  the  rear. 

With  a  grinding  sound  it  lodged  there,  swinging  the 
wagon  down-stream  while  the  current  boiled  and 
eddied. 

"  Whang !  "  snapped  the  rope,  broken  in  the  middle. 
Terry's  mother  screamed  and  clutched  at  him,  he  heard 
a  great  shout  from  his  father,  and  away  went  the 
wagon,  dragging  the  oxen  backward  as  it  slewed  and 
tilted. 

Terry  must  act  hard  and  quick.  He  knew  that  his 
father  was  riding  for  them  as  fast  as  he  could ;  but  the 
oxen  were  off  their  feet,  and  like  the  wagon  were  adrift, 
towed  by  the  floating  snag.  If  only  they  might  pull 
free !  He  shouted  his  best,  did  Terry,  trying  to  swing 
the  half  strangled  team  down  and  across  stream.  His 
great  fear  was  that  the  wagon  would  be  capsized,  and 
throw  his  mother  out.  Then,  just  at  the  moment  of 
nip  and  tuck,  when  he  was  almost  sliding  from  the  seat, 
himself,  the  wagon  grounded — so  did  the  oxen — and 
there  was  a  sense  of  freedom  as  if  the  snag  had  torn 
loose  and  left  them. 

"  Now !  Buck !  Yip  with  you !  Spot !  Gee !  Gee, 
Spot!  Whoa!  Gee!  Yip!  Yip!"  And  Terry,  shout- 
ing and  urging,  plied  the  lash. 

Buck  and  Spot  tugged ;  on  moved  the  wagon,  toward 


42  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

a  low  place  in  the  bank  several  rods  below  the  right 
landing;  but  that  didn't  matter,  so  long  as  the  oxen 
could  make  it.  Terry's  mother  cried  out  again,  with 
her  head  turned. 

"Oh,  Terry!    Your  father!" 

On,  to  the  bank,  lunged  the  bulging-eyed  oxen — 
reached  it  at  last  and  through  the  soft  mud  yanked  the 
wagon  to  the  top,  where  they  stopped  of  their  own  ac- 
cord, to  stand  with  flanks  heaving. 

Terry  now  might  look  behind  him,  for  his  father. 
But  his  father  was  not  in  sight,  neither  was  the  mare 
or  her  colt. 

"  Run,  Terry !  Down  the  bank ! "  besought  his 
mother.  "  He'll  need  help."  She  sprang  to  the  ground, 
but  Terry  was  out  first 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE   NEW    HOME 

QUICK  though  his  mother  was,  quick  was  Terry ;  and 
at  full  speed  he  ran,  down  the  bank  of  the  creek  and 
around  the  turn  below.  Shep  loyally  followed,  excited 
also.  From  the  turn  the  creek  flowed  swiftly  on,  in 
numerous  other  turns,  some  of  them  banked  by  willows 
and  other  brush  and  trees.  Constantly  peering,  Terry 
panted  along;  and  occasionally  he  shouted.  He  must 
have  gone  about  a  mile,  without  success,  when  suddenly 
he  saw  the  mare,  and  her  colt.  They  were  grazing  on 
his  side  of  the  creek;  and  at  the  approach  of  him, 
breathless,  they  pricked  their  ears  and  whinnied.  The 
mare  was  wringing  wet,  saddle  and  all.  The  colt  had 
a  deep  scratch  in  his  shoulder,  as  if  a  snag  had  scraped 
him.  But  of  Terry's  father  there  was  not  a  token,  any- 
where ;  not  on  the  prairie,  and  not  on  the  banks ;  and  not 
(Terry  was  glad  of  this,  at  least)  in  the  water. 

Terry  searched  feverishly,  everywhere  that  he  could 
think  of. 

"  What  did  you  do  with  my  father  ?  "  he  even  de- 
manded, in  despair,  of  the  old  mare.  She  did  not  an- 
swer, except  with  a  little  nicker  which  he  could  not 
translate;  and  when,  sobbing,  he  mounted  her  and 
turned  back  for  the  wagon,  to  report  to  his  mother,  the 

43 


44  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

colt  ambled  in  his  trail.  If  they  could  only  talk  in 
language  that  he  might  understand! 

Panting  back  again,  when  he  rounded  the  turn 
beyond  which  was  the  wagon  his  heart  gave  a  leap,  for 
he  saw,  at  the  wagon,  and  talking  with  his  mother,  a 
man,  horseback.  But  it  was  not  his  father.  No,  not 
his  father,  miraculously  mounted  upon  another  horse. 
The  man  appeared  quite  different.  He  was  a  long- 
haired, full-bearded  man — a  light  brown  beard.  He 
wore  a  peak-crowned,  wide-brimmed  black  hat,  with 
a  filagree  band,  a  loose  white  soft  shirt,  black  trousers 
flaring  at  the  bottom,  with  a  broad  gilt  stripe  down  the 
seam ;  on  his  hands  embroidered  gauntlet  gloves,  and  on 
his  high-heeled  boots  (into  which  his  trousers  were  not 
tucked),  enormous  spurs. 

"  Did  you  find  him,  Terry  ? "  called  his  mother, 
eagerly. 

Terry  shook  his  head. 

"  I  found  the  old  mare  and  her  colt.  They  were 
eating  grass,  where  they'd  come  across.  But  I  couldn't 
find  him  anywhere." 

"  Oh,  Terry !  "  gasped  his  mother,  imploringly. 

"  How  far  did  you  look  ?  "  queried  the  stranger, 
viewing  Terry  with  earnest  blue  eyes. 

"  About  a  mile  down.  Then  I  came  back  to  tell  my 
mother." 

"  You  wait  here  a  bit.  I'll  ride  further  and  see  what 
there  is,"  proffered  the  stranger;  and  wheeling  his 
horse,  he  loped  briskly  away  down  the  creek. 

"  Did  you  look  on  both  banks,  Terry?  "  quavered  his 
mother. 


THE  NEW  HOME  45 

Terry  nodded. 

"  Everywhere,"  he  said.    "  He  wasn't  in  sight." 

"  He  may  have  been  carried  on  down,"  spoke  his 
mother,  hopefully.  "He  must  have  been  swept  out  of 
the  saddle  by  the  snag." 

"The  colt's  scratched.  See?"  responded  Terry, 
hoping  too.  "  Maybe  that  man  will  find  him.  Who  is 
that  man  ?  " 

"  I  don't  really  know.  He  rode  up  to  me  while  I  was 
waiting,  and  asked  what  was  the  trouble.  He  seemed 
to  know  where  the  Richards'  cabin  is.  I  told  him  who 
we  were." 

There  wasn't  much  to  do  but  wait — and  that  was 
dreary  work.  Terry  continued  to  sit  in  the  saddle.  He 
let  the  mare  graze.  Shep  whined,  as  if  aware  that 
something  was  wrong.  The  sun  shone  bright,  the  little 
breeze  blew  across  the  green,  flowery  prairie,  but  what 
a  change  had  occurred !  Almost  within  sight  of  the  new 
home,  when  the  long  journey  was  practically  at  an  end, 
and  they  three  were  so  happy,  this  disaster  had  inter- 
fered, to  take  the  comrade  whom  they  so  loved  and  on 
whom  they  so  depended. 

The  wet  wagon  dripped,  the  two  oxen  stood  with 
noses  drooped,  Shep  whined,  and  Terry,  seeing  his 
mother  fixed  and  white  and  gazing  down  the  course  of 
the  creek,  felt  like  bursting  into  tears.  But  he  must  not ; 
he  must  not,  or  she  would  cry,  too.  He  must  play  the 
man,  and  be  ready  to  do  whatever  he  could,  to  help  her. 

It  seemed  a  long  time  before  the  stranger  horseman 
reappeared,  galloping  back  up  the  creek.  As  he  arrived, 
he  shook  his  head — but  he  might  have  come  with  worse 


46  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

news  than  that  he  had  found  nothing.  There  was  still 
hope,  then. 

"  I  searched  two  miles,  and  found  never  a  sign,"  he 
reported.  "  Sorry,  but  that's  the  case.  I  don't  think 
much  more  can  be  done  at  present,  but  I'll  do  what- 
ever I  can." 

"  Oh,  Terry !  "  cried  his  mother,  piteously.  "  What 
will  we  do !  I  can't  believe  that  your  father  is  gone" 

"  I  wouldn't  believe  so,  either,  if  I  were  you,  ma'am," 
spoke  the  stranger.  :<  You  aren't  left  alone,  at  any 
rate.  You've  got  this  boy  to  stand  by  you,  and  be  the 
man  of  the  family." 

"  He  will.  I  know  he  will,"  quavered  Mrs.  Richards. 
"Won't  you,  Terry?" 

Terry  nodded,  choking.  He  sprang  from  the  mare 
and  running  to  his  mother  put  his  arm  around  her 
shoulders. 

"  And  we  won't  give  up  the  ranch,"  he  said.  "  I  can 
work  it.  And  we'll  have  it  all  ready  for  dad  when  he 


comes." 


"That's  right,"  approved  the  stranger,  heartily. 
"  That's  the  brave  lad  and  that's  the  brave  woman. 
Now  if  I  were  you  I'd  go  ahead  to  your  cabin,  and  not 
wait  around  here  any  longer.  I'll  ride  the  creek  again 
and  keep  watch;  and  after  that  I'll  come  up  and  see 
what  more  I  can  do.  But  you'd  better  take  your  mother 
on,  Terry  my  lad,  and  put  a  roof  over  her,  and  wait 
t here.  Can  you  drive  those  oxen  ?  " 

"  Of  course,"   asserted  Terry.    "  Can't  I,  ma!  " 
"Just  as  well  as  anybody,"  affirmed  his  mother, 
proudly,  with  a  hug.    She  cast  another  long,  searching 


THE  NEW  HOME  47 

look  down  the  creek.  "  Yes,'-  she  said,  with  a  sad 
little  smile  at  Terry,  "we'd  better  go  on.  Terry'll 
take  care  of  me,  I  know.  He'll  be  my  man  until  his 
father  comes  back.  We  ought  to  get  to  the  cabin  be- 
fore dark." 

"  Bueno,"  approved  the  stranger,  with  a  Spanish 
word.  "  Why,  when  I  was  a  boy  of  his  age  I  was  ready 
to  take  care  of  my  mother,  and  I  reckon  he's  every  bit 
as  good  as  I  was.  Get  aboard.  The  mare  will  follow. 
Lucky  you've  got  her.  She  and  the  colt'll  come  in 
handy.  I  know  something  about  horses.  I've  been  out 
in  Californy,  where  nobody  walked.  Well,  I'll  tell  you 
how  to  reach  your  cabin,  if  it's  the  Richards'  cabin. 
I've  passed  it  several  times,  of  late.  You  see  yon  hill  ?  " 
he  asked,  of  Terry.  Terry  did.  "  Keep  to  the  left  of 
it,  and  on  the  other  side  you'll  sight  this  creek  again. 
The  cabin's  only  about  a  mile  straight  ahead,  then,  to 
the  south  of  a  patch  of  timber,  before  you  reach  the 
creek.  How  are  you  fixed  for  supplies?  " 

"  Plenty,"  answered  Mrs.  Richards. 

"  All  right.  Do  the  best  you  can,  and  depend  on  the 
boy ;  and  when  I've  ridden  the  creek,  and  notified  some 
people  below  to  keep  a  lookout,  I'll  come  up  and  see 
how  you're  getting  on,  and  report  anything  that  I've 
learned." 

"  Thank  you  again  and  again,"  said  Mrs.  Richards, 
as  she  entered  the  wagon  once  more.  "  Will  you  tell 
us  your  name,  so  we'll  know  who  you  are  ?  " 

The  man  laughed  bluffly. 

"  Oh,  names  don't  amount  to  much,  out  in  this 
country,  ma'am.  It's  what  people  do,  more  than  what 


48  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

name  they  happen  to  bear.  But  if  you  want  to  know, 
my  name's  Judy,  and  mostly  Sol.  Sol  Judy." 

"Do  you  live  here?" 

"  No,  ma'am,  except  that  I  live  nowhere  and  every- 
where. I  live  as  I  happen  to  be.  I've  been  in  Cali- 
forny,  until  lately.  That's  where  I  got  this  horse.  I've 
been  sailor  and  soldier  and  miner  and  teamster  and 
now  I'm  a  horse  breaker,  sort  of.  I'm  making  a  busi- 
ness of  corralling  horses  from  the  Injuns  or  wild  on 
the  prairie,  and  breaking  'em  and  selling  'em.  I  just 
ride  through  the  country,  which  is  why  I'm  here." 

He  sidled  his  horse  (which  certainly  was  a  fine 
animal,  whose  big  saddle,  with  high  pommel  and  cantle 
and  great  hooded  stirrups,  looked  like  California,  as 
now  did  its  rider's  costume  also)  to  the  wagon,  and 
reaching  out  shook  hands  with  Terry's  mother. 

"  You've  got  the  boy,"  he  reminded.  "  He'll  pull 
you  through.  And  you've  got  a  good  ranch,  'cording  to 
my  notion.  Keep  a  stiff  upper  lip — if  you'll  pardon 
my  saying  so.  As  for  you,  my  lad,"  he  continued,  now 
extending  his  hand  to  Terry,  "  you  buckle  to  it  and 
make  a  home  for  your  mother.  If  I  can  do  anything 
for  you,  while  I'm  in  the  country  I  will.  I'll  be  down 
at  Riley,  off  and  on.  That's  my  headquarters.  But 
I'll  come  up  soon,  anyhow,  Adios,  and  good  luck." 

He  gripped  Terry's  hand  hard,  and  slapped  him  on 
the  shoulder. 

"  I  will,"  assured  Terry.  "  Please  look  a  little  more, 
though,  and  find  my  father." 

"  We'll  find  him,"  declared  Sol  Judy,  with  stubborn 
shake  of  his  high-crowned  hat.  "  He  may  have  been 


THE  NEW  HOME  49 

carried  several  miles  down,  yet,  and  crawled  out,  and 
is  getting  his  breath  so  he  can  travel.  Good-by." 

"  Good-by,"  they  replied.  And  Terry  manfully 
shouted,  to  the  oxen :  "  Buck !  Spot !  Haw !  Giddap ! 
Hep  with  you." 

Buck  and  Spot  started,  the  wagon  creaked  and 
rolled  ahead,  and  watching  the  march,  a  moment,  sit- 
ting his  fine  horse  Mr.  Judy  waved  encouragement. 
They  waved  back.  Then  he  turned,  and  cantered 
away,  down  along  the  creek. 

"  Well,  Terry,  we  must  do  the  best  we  can  till  your 
father  comes,"  said  Terry's  mother. 

"Do  you  think  he'll  come,  ma?"  anxiously  asked 
Terry. 

"  I  know  he  will,  dear.  I'm  as  certain  of  it  as  I  am 
that  I  see  you.  Meanwhile,  you're  the  man  of  the 
family.  You'll  have  to  work  hard,  but  I'll  help  you." 

"  You  needn't  do  a  thing,  ma,"  declared  Terry. 
"  I'll  do  it  all — except  make  pie.  Gwan,  Buck !  " 

"  We've  got  the  chickens  and  the  oxen  and  the 
horses,"  purused  his  mother,  bravely,  "  and  we  might 
be  much  worse  off ;  mightn't  we  ?  " 

"I  should  say  so,"  agreed  Terry.  "Haw,  Spot! 
What's  the  matter  with  you !  Haw — now  gee !  Hep ! 
Gwan." 

"  Mr.  Judy  told  us  to  keep  to  the  left  of  that  hill, 
remember.  Then  the  cabin's  only  a  little  way  further." 

"  I  know.    Wonder  when  we'll  see  it." 

"  Pretty  soon,  dear." 

They  plodded  along,  and  the  hill  drew  nearer. 
Slowly  they  rounded  the  base  of  it,  and  entered  into 


50  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

a  valley.  They  gazed  anxiously  ahead,  for  the  sun 
was  low  and  evening  was  at  hand,  and  they  dreaded  to 
camp  again,  by  themselves  this  time. 

"  I  see  it !  I  see  it ! "  exclaimed  Terry's  mother, 
from  the  wagon  seat.  "  Anyway,  I  see  a  cabin." 

"  Where?  "    And  Terry  craned  his  neck. 

"  Yonder,  up  the  valley.  There's  the  creek,  isn't  it? 
That  line  of  brush.  And  there's  a  timber  patch.  Don't 
you  see  the  cabin,  too  ?  " 

Terry  did :  a  low  cabin,  set  out  on  the  bottom-land 
not  far  from  the  creek  and  the  timber  patch. 

"  It's  our  ranch,  ma,"  he  cried.  "  I  know  it.  It 
looks  just  like  dad  told  us  it  would." 

"  I  wish  he  were  here,"  breathed  his  mother,  softly; 
she  gazed  behind  them,  again,  hoping  Mr.  Judy  might 
be  bringing  him ;  but  not  a  moving  figure  was  in  sight. 
And  not  a  moving  figure  was  in  sight  before,  either. 
Very  lonely  appeared  the  landscape,  where  the  single 
cabin  was  the  only  token  of  human  life,  until  Terry 
said,  exultantly : 

"  Here  are  wagon  tracks,  ma.  I  guess  we'll  follow 
them.  They  must  be  the  ones  dad  made  when  he 
hauled  building  stuff  across  the  creek.  We  can  pre- 
tend he's  leading  us !  " 

"  So  we  can,  Terry,"  agreed  his  mother. 

Trending  toward  the  cabin,  on  wended  the  tracks, 
with  Terry  fitting  the  wagon  wheels  to  them,  and  Buck 
and  Spot  pulling  a  little  more  lively,  as  if  they,  also, 
anticipated  soon  being  "  home."  The  cabin  rose 
against  the  horizon,  where  hung  the  low  sun.  The 
breeze  had  ceased  blowing,  and  everything  was  quiet. 


THE  NEW  HOME  51 

Terry  stared  expectantly,  sizing  up  the  situation;  so 
did  his  mother. 

The  cabin  grew  plainer.  It  resolved  into  a  plain 
log  cabin,  almost  square,  with  a  sod  roof,  and  in  the 
gable  end  of  the  roof  a  small  window,  above  the 
door,  showing  that  this  was  a  cabin  with  a  loft.  The 
cabin  sat  right  out  in  the  open,  as  if  it  might  have  been 
dropped  from  the  sky  or  from  a  passing  wagon,  and 
the  sod  extended  to  the  very  threshold.  But  there  was 
a  rude  shed,  for  the  wagon,  and  adjacent  to  it  a  pole 
corral  or  cow-yard,  enclosing  a  sort  of  lean-to,  for  the 
oxen  and  horses. 

Terry  gazed  hard  at  the  chimney,  hoping  against 
hope  that  his  father  might  have  someway  beat  them 
and  have  started  a  fire  as  a  welcome.  Smoke  coming 
out  of  that  chimney  would  have  been  a  grand  sight. 
However,  there  was  no  smoke,  the  door  and  the  win- 
dow-shutters were  closed  tight,  and  the  cabin  evidently 
was  still  waiting  for  its  family. 

"  It  looks  like  a  real  cabin,  doesn't  it ! "  asserted 
Terry's  mother.  "  You  may  be  sure  it's  good,  if  your 
father  made  it.  But  there  aren't  many  neighbors." 

"  We'll  have  the  Stantons,  pretty  soon,"  comforted 
Terry.  "  You  mustn't  be  afraid,  ma.  I'll  take  care 
of  you.  I'll  use  dad's  gun  and  shoot  game  for  you 
and  keep  the  Injuns  off.  Whoa,  Buck !  Spot !  "  And 
at  last  he  halted  the  oxen,  before  the  cabin  door. 

"  Anyway,  here  we  are,  laddie,"  assured  his  mother, 
plucking  up  courage,  and  springing  down.  "  It  must 
be  our  cabin,  don't  you  think  ?  But  how'll  we  get  in  ? 
Everything's  locked.  Your  father  told  you  how,  didn't 
he?  By  a  window." 


52  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

"  Sure,"  said  Terry,  boldly.  "  It's  easy.  Fll  show 
you." 

"  Be  careful,"  she  begged.  "  If  it  shouldn't  be  our 
cabin " 

"  But  it  is,  ma,"  argued  Terry.  "  If  it  isn't  I  won't 
be  able  to  break  in.  See  ?  " 

He  opened  his  knife,  and  walked  boldly  to  the  side 
window  on  the  right.  His  father  had  explained  that 
the  middle  board  of  the  shutter  was  only  tacked  lightly 
in  place,  and  that  the  way  to  do  was  to  pry  it  out  with 
a  knife  blade,  and  then  one  could  insert  an  arm  far 
enough  to  lift  out  the  wooden  staple  that  held  the 
shutter  fast. 

Terry  applied  his  knife-blade ;  and,  hurrah,  out  came 
the  board. 

"  I've  got  it,  ma !  "  he  cried.  "  Wait  till  I  open  the 
door." 

He  pulled  the  pin  which  fitted  down  through  the 
bottom  rail  of  the  shutter  and  into  the  sill,  and  swung 
the  shutter  outward.  In  he  clambered — peering  about 
him,  as  he  did  so,  to  make  certain. 

The  interior  of  the  cabin  was  dim,  but  smelled  new 
and  sweet.  As  he  lightly  landed  on  the  wooden  floor 
he  heard  a  slight  scuffle,  as  if  he  had  surprised  another 
occupant;  but  he  did  not  stop  for  that.  Across  the 
boards  he  ran,  to  open  the  door  at  once.  The  door 
was  fastened  shut  by  a  bar  which  laid  in  a  socket  of  the 
door  and  of  the  jamb.  It  took  only  a  second  to  lift 
this  also,  and  the  wooden  latch  (the  latchstring  of 
which  was  hanging  inside),  and  fling  the  door  wide. 

"  Come   in,    Mrs.    Richards,   ma'am,"    he   invited, 


THE  NEW  HOME  53 

with  a  mock  bow.  "  Make  yourself  at  home.  Will 
you  stay  to  supper  ?  " 

"  I  declare ! "  quoth  his  mother,  nervously  holding 
back  her  skirts,  and  standing  on  the  threshold,  to  sur- 
vey. "  It  seems  quite  nice.  I  do  wish  he  were  here." 

And  so  did  Terry. 

She  put  her  arm  around  him,  and  together  they  in- 
spected the  new  quarters,  as  she  cautiously  entered, 
with  him.  The  interior  of  the  cabin  of  course  was 
rudely  furnished,  but  it  did  strike  them  as  "  homey  ". 
There  was  a  fine  big  fire-place,  of  stones  cemented 
with  clay,  and  a  hole  in  the  upper  part  of  the  chimney, 
for  the  stovepipe.  Terry  remembered  how  his  father 
had  counted  on  this  fire-place  for  comfort.  There  was 
a  table,  of  long  slabs,  dressed-sides  up,  on  stout  square 
legs.  There  was  a  slab  stool  for  his  mother  to  sit  on 
when  cooking  or  paring  potatoes.  There  was  a  bench, 
too,  which  in  summer  would  be  outside,  for  the  wash 
basin,  etc.  There  was  a  ladder,  leading  to  a  trap-door 
in  the  ceiling,  for  Terry  to  ascend  when  he  went  to 
bed  "  up-stairs."  There  was  a  broad  bunk,  or  bed,  at 
the  far  end  of  the  cabin,  built  of  planks,  like  a  shallow 
box,  to  be  fitted  with  the  mattress  that  his  mother  had 
made  to  measurement ;  here  his  mother  and  father  were 
to  sleep.  There  was  the  barrel,  which  should  stand 
outside,  covered,  to  be  kept  full  of  water  for  daily 
use.  There  were  three  windows,  one  on  either  side 
and  one  at  the  end  opposite  the  door;  the  sashes  for 
these  were  in  the  wagon.  The  floor  was  of  rough  new 
planks,  hauled  from  the  mill;  and  while  they  did  not 
meet  exactly  and  left  cracks,  they  made  a  stout  floor. 


54  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

Similar  planks  formed  the  ceiling,  but  whitish  muslin 
had  been  tacked  over  them,  to  keep  the  dust  from 
sifting  down.  Terry  nimbly  ran  up  the  ladder  and 
poked  his  head  through  the  trap  door  hole. 

"  I've  got  a  bunk  up  here,  ma,"  he  called,  excited. 
"  You  won't  be  afraid,  with  me  right  over  your  head, 
will  you !  I  bet  I  can  see  the  whole  country  from  the 
window.  Do  you  want  to  come  up  ?  " 

"  Not  now,  Terry,"  she  answered.  "  We'd  better 
move  some  things  in  from  the  wagon,  before  dark." 

Down  jumped  Terry,  and  out  they  went  again.  But 
they  could  not  resist  one  little  tour  of  the  premises. 
The  cabin  appeared  remarkably  sturdy,  proof  against 
wind  and  weather — yes,  and  against  "  Injuns."  The 
logs,  from  which  the  bark  had  been  pealed,  were 
chinked  tight  and  hard  with  clay.  The  chimney  was 
tremendously  thick,  and  the  sod  roof  already  was 
growing  grass !  The  shed  was  plenty  large  enough  for 
the  wagon  and  machinery;  and  one  side  contained  a 
roost  for  the  chickens.  The  corral  was  strong,  too,  and 
the  shed  was  water-proof,  and  there  was  a  rack  for  hay. 
There  even  was  an  outside  cellar,  or  dugout,  with  the 
dirt  roof  only  a  couple  of  feet  above  the  surface  of 
the  ground,  and  here  would  be  kept  the  butter  and 
milk  and  potatoes  and  that  sort  of  thing.  And,  valu- 
able in  the  present  emergency,  against  one  side  of  the 
cabin  was  stacked  a  lot  of  split  wood,  waiting  for  the 
stove ! 

Well,  well,  matters  might  have  been  much  worse, 
thanks  to  Mr.  Richards,  who  plainly  had  worked  hard. 
What  a  lot  he  had  accomplished,  to  make  the  new 
home  pleasant  and  convenient ! 


THE  NEW  HOME  55 

However,  as  Terry's  mother  had  reminded  him,  it 
was  high  time  that  they  set  about  moving  in.  Terry 
manfully  turned  the  oxen  out,  to  graze,  and  tethered 
the  old  mare  to  the  corral  until  he  had  started  his 
mother  at  housekeeping. 

The  first  thing  to  do  was  to  put  up  the  stove.  That 
was  quite  a  job,  for  the  stove  was  heavy,  and  at  the 
bottom  of  the  load.  Finally  they  got  to  it,  after  they 
had  carried  in  chairs  and  the  mattress  and  a  lot  of 
other  stuff;  and  tugging  manfully  Terry  dragged  it 
to  the  rear  end  of  the  wagon.  When  they  had  stripped 
it  as  much  as  it  could  be  stripped,  they  managed  to 
drop  it  out,  and  foot  by  foot  tugged  it  inside  the  cabin, 
to  the  spot  that  his  mother  had  selected  after  they  had 
measured  the  pipe  lengths.  Then  they  set  it  up,  and 
reaching  on  the  stool  Terry  adjusted  the  pipe. 

"  There !  "  said  his  mother,  triumphantly  standing 
back  and  surveying  it.  "  We  sha'n't  have  pie  to-night, 
but  maybe  we  will  to-morrow." 

They  made  the  beds — Terry's  up  in  the  loft,  his 
mother's  below,  and  they  rapidly  distributed  the  furni- 
ture and  the  cooking  utensils.  Really,  in  an  astonish- 
ingly short  space  of  time  the  cabin  began  to  look  very 
familiar. 

The  sun  had  sunk,  twilight  was  flowing  across  the 
lonely  wide  valley.  From  the  doorway  Terry's  mother 
suddenly  exclaimed,  pointing. 

"Terry!  Look!  See  those  big  birds  flying  into 
that  timber!" 

"Oh,  ma!  They're  turkeys !  Wild  turkeys  I  That's 
where  they  roost." 


56  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

"  I  shouldn't  wonder  a  bit.  Think  of  having  a 
turkey  roost  in  one's  own  yard." 

"  I'll  go  get  one  if  you  say  so/'  proffered  Terry,  ex- 
cited at  the  prospect.  "  I'll  take  the  shot-gun." 

"  No,  not  to-night,"  bade  his  mother.  "  You've  got 
to  water  the  mare  and  put  her  up,  you  know ;  and  we've 
enough  to  eat,  for  supper. 

"  Well,  sometime,  just  the  same,"  answered  Terry. 
But  she  was  right.  Business  before  pleasure,  at  pres- 
ent. 

"  And  get  me  a  pail  of  water,  too,  dear,  while  you're 
watering  the  mare,"  added  his  mother. 

Taking  the  pail,  and  leading  the  mare,  Terry  started 
away,  for  the  creek,  over  whose  brush  hung  low  the 
dusk.  He  had  trudged  only  about  a  dozen  paces, 
when  his  mother's  voice  summoned  him  alarmingly. 

"  Oh,  Terry !    Terry !    Come  quick !  " 

Dropping  pail  and  rope,  back  ran  Terry,  frightened 
at  the  tone.  His  mother  was  outside,  her  skirts  again 
held  tight,  while  she  peered  in;  and  he  heard  a  shrill, 
angry  buzz,  rising  and  falling,  rising  and  falling,  mak- 
ing the  very  air  quiver. 

"  A  rattlesnake,  Terry !  It  came  up  right  through 
the  floor  beside  me !  "  gasped  his  mother,  pointing. 

She  had  lighted  a  candle.  There,  near  the  table, 
was  sticking  up  through  a  knothole  in  the  floor  a  rattle- 
snake, sure  enough.  His  rattle  was  out  of  sight, 
under  the  floor;  but  half  of  him  formed  a  couple 
of  coils  on  top,  where  his  ugly  head,  protruding  from 
the  center  of  his  coils,  swayed  and  darted  its  forked 
tongue.  Evidently  he  was  angered  at  the  invasion, 


"LOOK    OUT,    TERRY!"     BESOUGHT    HIS    MOTHER. 


THE  NEW  HOME  57 

and  the  noise  of  feet  over  him,  and  he  had  issued  to 
give  warning. 

"  I'll  fix  him,  ma,"  asserted  Terry.  "  Just  let  him 
wait  a  minute."  And  Terry  sprang  for  his  ox  whip. 

"  Be  careful,  Terry !  "  begged  his  mother.  "  Don't 
go  near.  Throw  things  at  him  and  when  he's  under 
again  we'll  stop  up  the  hole." 

"  Shucks !  "  objected  Terry.  "  We  can't  live  in  any 
peace,  with  him  under  the  floor.  He's  liable  to  dig  out, 
or  something." 

Terry  advanced  with  the  whip;  but  he  advanced 
very  cautiously.  Louder  and  more  angry  sounded  the 
rattle,  and  the  snake  showed  no  disposition  to  retreat. 

"  Look  out,  Terry !  "  besought  his  mother. 

"  He  can't  jump  far,  out  of  that  hole,"  declared 
Terry.  He  poised  the  whip-stock,  and  within  strik- 
ing distance  swung  it  mightily.  The  butt  landed  full 
against  the  snake's  head,  and  must  have  broken  the 
neck,  for  the  snake  sprawled  lax  and  quivering.  Terry 
leaped  for  him  and  thwacked  him  hard,  battering  the 
head  to  jelly.  Then  he  bethought  himself  of  the 
pitchfork;  ran  and  got  it,  picked  the  snake  from 
the  hole,  and  (his  mother  standing  aside  fearfully) 
pitched  it  outside. 

"  Jiminy !  He's  a  sockdologer,  isn't  he,  ma ! " 
crowed  Terry.  "  Think  of  having  him  in  the  family !  " 
For  the  snake  was  fully  five  feet  long,  as  thick  through 
as  one's  forearm,  and  by  count  had  thirteen  rattles  and 
a  button.  "  Give  me  something  and  I'll  stuff  that  hole 
up;  and  to-night  I'll  nail  a  tin  over  it.  Wonder  if 
there  are  any  more  holes." 


58  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

But  there  weren't;  having  stuffed  the  hole,  Terry 
laid  the  snake  body  apart  for  skinning  in  the  morning, 
and  proceeded  to  the  creek.  He  felt  as  though  he  had 
done  pretty  well,  for  a  beginning. 


CHAPTER  V 

.     AN  ALARM  IN  THE  NIGHT 

DOWN  by  the  creek  all  was  chill  and  gloomy,  with 
strange  shadows  lurking  among  the  willows,  and  the 
water  babbling  in  many  voices.  The  old  mare  snorted 
and  stared  suspiciously,  before  she  drank.  Terry  had 
almost  to  drag  her  forward  to  the  brink.  He  felt  a 
little  uneasy,  himself;  for  this  was  strange  ground, 
the  real  wilderness,  and  the  cabin  light,  shining  through 
the  door  ajar,  seemed  far  away. 

However,  he  decided  that  he  probably  would  have 
to  do  considerable  tramping  around,  at  this  hour,  here- 
after, and  that  he  might  as  well  start  right  in.  He  was 
the  man  of  the  family.  His  father  of  course  wouldn't 
have  been  afraid  at  all.  Oh,  if  dad  would  only  turn 
up  safe  and  sound,  or  even  a  little  injured;  how  glad 
they  would  be  to  see  him! 

The  mare  certainly  acted  very  foolish,  for  an  old 
horse  who  had  camped  out  in  the  open  every  night 
for  weeks.  While  drinking,  she  frequently  paused,  to 
sn'ort,  and  stare,  and  paw,  and  the  colt  sidled  close 
to  her,  pressing  against  her  shoulder.  Terry  also 
stared.  He  rather  wished  that  he  had  brought  the 
gun,  although  he  could  not  see  a  thing  to  be  alarmed 
at. 

59 


60  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

Darkness  was  gathering  rapidly,  enfolding  the 
stream  bed  and  the  timber  patch.  Hist!  There  were 
the  turkeys,  talking — piping  querulously  one  to  an- 
other. A  great  owl,  on  silent  wing,  flapped  over;  and 
night-hawks,  scarcely  seen,  swooped  up  and  down. 
Suddenly,  in  the  timber,  sounded  a  rush,  a  crash, 
and  a  tremendous  fluttering  from  the  disturbed  tur- 
keys. The  old  mare  wheeled,  snorting  again,  and 
Terry  himself  made  a  long  jump,  holding  to  her  rope. 
The  turkeys  were  twittering  excitedly,  and  blundering 
from  branch  to  branch.  What  ailed  them?  Perhaps 
one  had  fallen  out  of  bed.  Terry's  heart  thumped, 
as  he  tried  to  listen.  Well,  whatever  it  was  that  had 
disturbed  the  turkeys,  at  any  rate  the  old  mare  wanted 
to  go  back  to  the  cabin,  and  he  was  willing  to  take  her. 
He  must  confess  that  he  did  not  like  to  be  so  near  this 
timber  patch  until  he  got  more  used  to  it  by  day-time. 

So  back  he  trudged,  the  mare  keeping  abreast  of 
him  at  a  short  nervous  trot;  and  he  cast  occasional 
glances  behind  him  to  make  certain  that  nothing  was 
following  them.  Glad  enough  was  he  to  be  guided  by 
the  cabin  light,  and  to  know  that  his  mother  was  wait- 
ing for  him.  The  fume  of  the  wood  burning  in  the 
stove  smelled  good ;  it  smelled  of  home. 

"Is  that  you,  Terry?"  called  his  mother,  opening 
the  door  wider,  and  standing  framed  there,  looking 
out,  as  he  approached. 

"  Whoo-ee !  "  responded  Terry.  "  I'm  here.  I'll  set 
the  pail  of  water  inside  and  then  I'll  come  myself  after 
I've  put  the  mare  up." 

"  Yes,  do,  dear.  It's  getting  too  dark  for  you.  And 
please  bring  another  armful  of  wood  with  you." 


AN  ALARM  IN  THE  NIGHT  61 

He  delivered  the  pail  of  water  and  turned  the  mare 
and  her  colt  into  the  corral.  Then  he  got  the  arm- 
ful of  wood,  and  his  first  evening's  chores  at  the  new 
home  were  done. 

"  All  right,  Terry.  This  is  cosy,  isn't  it!  "  cheerily 
said  his  mother,  busy  at  the  stove.  And  she  spoke 
truth.  But  what  a  lot  she  had  done  even  in  his  short 
absence.  She  was  smart,  was  his  mother.  She  had 
arranged  the  scant  furniture,  and  had  strung  a  bright 
calico  curtain  so  as  to  shut  off  her  bedroom,  and  had 
set  the  table,  and  now  by  the  light  of  two  candles  was 
cooking  supper — bacon  and  fried  potatoes  and  bis- 
cuit! 

"  No  more  snakes  ?  "  queried  Terry. 

"  Not  a  sign  of  one.  You  can  wash,  and  we'll  eat. 
Supper's  about  ready." 

"  So  am  I,"  informed  Terry. 

They  were  just  sitting  down,  when  a  loud  hail  of 
"  Hello,  in  there !  "  broke  upon  their  talk. 

"  Oh,  Terry !  "  exclaimed  his  mother,  hopefully — 
for  although  they  had  tried  to  talk  of  many  things, 
their  minds  had  been  full  of  the  one  subject :  Terry's 
father.  Now  perhaps  he  had  come. 

"  Hello!  "  shouted  Terry;  and  jumping  to  the  door, 
he  opened  it. 

But  only  Sol  Judy  sat,  on  his  horse,  revealed  by  the 
ight.  Still,  he  was  welcome,  for  he  might  have  brought 
news. 

"  Already  settled,  are  you  ?  "  he  greeted,  as  he  dis- 
mounted, and  dropped  his  lines. 

"  Yes,  sir.  Pretty  near,"  answered  Terry.  "  Did 
you  find  anything  ?  " 


62  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

"  Is  that  Mr.  Judy  ?  "  called  Mrs.  Richards.  "  Have 
him  come  in." 

"  I  can't  stay,"  said  Mr.  Judy.  "  I  rode  up  here 
because  I  knew  you'd  be  anxious."  He  advanced  to 
the  threshold,  and  spoke  directly,  without  any  beating 
around  the  bush.  "  I  have  both  bad  news  and  good. 
I  haven't  found  your  husband,  I'm  sorry  to  say;  but 
I've  found  this  hat.  Is  it  his  ?  "  And  he  held  out  a  hat. 

"That's  his!"  exclaimed  Terry.  "I  know  it  is, 
ma.  There's  the  tear  in  the  crown.  Remember?  " 

"  It's  his  hat,"  agreed  Mrs.  Richards ;  and  her  voice 
broke,  as  she  fingered  the  bedraggled  brim.  "  Where 
did  you  find  it,  please  ?  " 

"  Not  in  the  water,  ma'am,"  quickly  answered  Mr. 
Judy.  "  That's  the  curious  part,  and  that's  the  good 
news.  It  was  hanging  on  some  willows,  several  feet 
above  the  water,  at  the  edge  of  the  creek.  It  couldn't 
have  got  there  without  being  carried  by  somebody  or 
something.  But  I  searched  high  and  low  for  the  man 
himself,  and  found  never  a  trace,  except  the  hat." 

"  Couldn't  it  have  dropped  from  the  horse  ?  "  pro- 
posed Terry's  mother.  "  It  might  have  caught  on 
the  saddle." 

"  It  was  hanging  too  high  for  that,  ma'am.  And 
anyway,  it  was  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  creek  from 
where  the  horse  came  out.  I  found  the  mare's  tracks, 
where  she  left  the  water,  which  was  nowhere  near  the 
hat." 

"Weren't  there  any  tracks  at  all  near  the  hat?" 
ventured  Terry. 

"  Not  a  one.     Most  of  the  willows  were  standing 


AN  ALARM  IN  THE  NIGHT  63 

in  water,  and  I  did  think  the  water  might  have  been 
stirred  up  a  little,  but  I  can't  be  sure.  But  I've  an 
idea  your  husband's  alive,  ma'am.  I  can't  tell  why, 
except  the  hat  seems  to  say  so." 

"  I  know  he's  alive,"  said  Mrs.  Richards,  simply. 
"  I  know  he's  alive  and  I  know  he'll  come  back  some- 
time, and  all  will  be  explained.  I  do  hope  he's  not  lying 
out  in  the  creek,  injured.  That  worries  me  more  than 
anything  else." 

Mr.  Judy  shook  his  head. 

"  It  doesn't  seem  likely,  considering  the  hat.  He'd 
have  strength  enough  to  call  out;  and  I  searched  the 
whole  creek  thoroughly.  It  isn't  deep  enough  to  drown 
in,  in  many  places.  There's  a  long  stretch  of  shallows, 
below.  The  creek's  fallen  two  feet,  since  noon.  It's 
almost  normal  now." 

"  But  not  fallen  enough  to  have  left  the  hat  so  high, 
you  think?  "  asked  Mrs.  Richards. 

"Well,  I  should  say  not;  it  never  was  up  to  that 
point,  ma'am." 

"We'll  hang  the  hat  in  the  cabin,  and  it  will  be 
ready  for  him  when  he  comes,"  announced  Terry's 
mother.  "  Won't  we,  Terry  ?  " 

Terry  nodded,  a  lump  in  his  throat.  Just  a  hat  was 
rather  forlorn.  Still,  it  would  be  something  to  look 
at,  and  it  would  seem  like  a  sort  of  protection;  and 
when  his  father  turned  up  (as  he  surely  would,  wouldn't 
he?)  they  could  hand  it  to  him  and  say : 

"  Here's  your  hat,  father.  It's  been  waiting  for 
you." 

"  Now  you  must  have  a  bite  of  supper,  sir,"  con- 


64  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

tinued  Mrs.  Richards,  to  Sol  Judy.  "Come  in  and 
sit  down;  there's  a-plenty,  such  as  it  is.  I  put  it  to- 
gether in  a  hurry." 

But  Terry  felt  that  his  mother  needn't  apologize 
for  that  supper ! 

"  I'd  like  to  mighty  well,  ma'am,"  answered  Mr. 
Judy,  hesitating.  "  I  see  biscuits,  and  hot  bread  always 
was  my  weak  point.  But  I've  a  long  ride  to  take  yet 
to-night,  so  as  to  do  a  little  business  to-morrow.  So 
now  that  I've  told  you  what  I  know,  I'll  light  out. 
But  I'll  be  'round  again  and  see  how  you  and  the  boy 
are  getting  on." 

"  Wait  just  a  minute,"  bade  Terry's  mother.  "  Pour 
a  cup  of  coffee,  Terry,  and  he  can  be  drinking  it." 
And  she  fled  to  the  table,  opened  half  a  dozen  bis- 
cuits, thrust  bacon  in,  stuffed  them  into  a  paper  sack 
and  passed  it  into  Mr.  Judy's  hands. 

"  You  can  eat  while  you  ride,"  she  informed.  "  No- 
body shall  come  to  this  cabin  door  at  meal  time  and 
go  away  without  something.  Besides,  you've  taken  a 
great  deal  of  trouble  on  our  account." 

"  Nothing  at  all,  ma'am,"  stammered  Mr.  Judy,  em- 
barrassed by  the  biscuits  and  thanks.  "  Everybody 
must  help  everybody  else,  in  a  new  country.  I  wish 
I  could  have  brought  you  better  news;  but  you  can 
keep  hoping." 

"  We're  more  than  hoping ;  we're  expecting,"  replied 
Terry's  mother. 

"  Maybe  next  time  you  come,  you'll  find  dad  here," 
added  Terry. 

"  Shouldn't  wonder  a  mite,"  responded  Mr.  Judy, 


AN  ALARM  IN  THE  NIGHT  65 

putting  foot  into  stirrup.  "  Good-night  to  you  and 
good  luck,  and  much  obliged  for  the  forage.  These 
biscuits  atop  that  coffee  will  carry  me  a  long  way." 

"  Good-night,"  they  called.  "  And  thanks  for  your 
trouble." 

As  he  rode  off,  he  bit  into  a  biscuit.  Then  he  dis- 
appeared in  the  darkness. 

"  We'll  hang  the  hat  on  that  peg  beside  the  door, 
Terry,"  quoth  his  mother.  So  she  did.  "  And  we'll 
talk  of  him  just  as  though  he  was  around  somewhere, 
and  would  walk  in  at  any  moment.  There's  no  use 
in  speculating  exactly  where  he  is,  or  imagining  un- 
pleasant things,  which  may  not  be  true.  I  think  he's 
wandered  off,  and  will  be  picked  up  and  returned  to 
us;  and  meanwhile  we'll  do  the  very  best  we  can." 

"All  right,"  agreed  Terry;  for  he  could  see  that 
his  mother  was  trying  hard  to  be  brave,  and  to  make 
him  brave,  also. 

Anyway,  it  was  comforting  to  have  the  hat  hang- 
ing on  the  peg,  and  the  biscuits  were  particularly 
good,  and  the  cabin  was  the  real  thing ;  so  affairs  might 
have  been  much  worse. 

"  Let's  see ;  what  will  we  do  to-morrow,  Terry  ?  " 
invited  his  mother  as  he  wiped  the  dishes  while  she 
washed.  "  About  the  first  thing,  is  to  be  sure  that  we'll 
have  plenty  to  eat.  I  guess  we'll  make  a  kitchen  garden, 
and  have  it  growing.  And  we  must  be  getting  ready 
for  winter,  too,  so  that  the  animals  won't  starve.  We 
ought  to  plant  some  corn.  And  your  father  spoke 
of  a  bottom  of  wild  hay,  didn't  he  ?  We  must  look  at 
that.  And  a  pasture  for  the  oxen  and  horses  ought 


66  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

to  be  fenced.  And  we  must  invent  some  way  of  get- 
ting water  easier.  Maybe  the  spring  is  handy  enough, 
but  I  haven't  seen  it  yet,  have  you?  And  there's  the 
wood  supply  to  keep  up,  and  I  don't  know  what  we're 
going  to  do  away  out  here  for  milk  and  butter,  and — 
and — oh,  Terry  I  How  can  we  ever  manage  to  live, 
alone?" 

With  that,  his  mother  suddenly  held  her  apron 
against  her  face  and  began  to  cry. 

This  was  awful !  Terry  would  much  have  preferred 
to  cry,  himself.  But  now  of  course  he  couldn't,  for  he 
must  comfort  her.  After  he  had  reminded  her  again 
and  again  that  he  was  to  be  her  "  man/'  and  that 
everything  was  going  to  turn  out  all  right,  she  hastily 
wiped  her  eyes,  and  smiled,  and  declared  that  she 
wouldn't  be  "  foolish  "  any  more. 

They  went  to  bed  early :  his  mother  behind  the  cur- 
tain, at  the  end  of  the  cabin,  Terry  in  his  loft,  while 
Shep  kept  guard  outside  and  had  the  shed  for  a 
shelter  and  the  chickens  for  company. 

Terry  liked  it,  up  in  the  loft,  which  extended  the 
full  length  and  width  of  the  cabin.  In  the  middle, 
under  the  peak  of  the  roof,  he  could  stand  up,  but  the 
slope  of  the  roof  came  clear  to  the  floor,  at  the  eaves. 
Above  him  were  the  roof  beams  and  ridge-pole  and  a 
dense  thatch  of  willow  boughs  upon  which  had  been 
packed  the  clay  mud  and  sod,  two  feet  thick.  Con- 
siderable dust  and  large  particles  of  dirt  had  sifted 
down  into  the  loft,  but  Terry  did  not  mind  this. 

Under  the  window  in  the  end  was  his  bunk;  he 
opened  the  shutter  and  fastened  it  back  with  the  wooden 


AN  ALARM  IN  THE  NIGHT  67 

button,  and  hopped  in  beneath  the  blanket  and  quilts. 
Lying  there,  he  could  stare  up  at  the  million  stars, 
while  the  cool  air  swept  across  his  face.  Everything 
was  still;  all  the  world  seemed  asleep.  He  was  just 
drifting  off  into  slumber,  himself,  when  he  was 
startled  wide  awake  and  a-tremble  by  the  most  un- 
canny, blood-curdling  noise  that  he  had  ever  heard. 
It  was  a  long,  weird  yell,  rising  high  and  falling  again, 
long  drawn-out,  piercing  the  night  like  a  knife. 
Whether  it  was  near  or  far  he  could  not  tell,  but  evi- 
dently it  was  some  animal.  Jiminy  Christmas !  What  ? 
Sounded  a  little  like  a  horse  yelling,  the  way  horses 
can,  when  angry  or  distressed. 

But  it  wasn't  the  mare;  for  when, he  hastily  sat  up, 
peering,  he  heard  her  snorting  in  the  corral ;  Shep  was 
barking  furiously,  the  chickens  were  cackling  af- 
f rightedly,  and  his  mother's  voice  called : 

"Terry!     Are  you  awake?    Did  you  hear  that?" 

"  Yes ;  it  waked  me  up.  Do  you  want  me,  ma  ?  Are 
you  afraid  ?  " 

"  No ;  we're  all  right,  in  here,  I  guess.  But  what 
was  it?" 

"  I  don't  know." 

"Is  the  shed  door  shut?" 

"  I  don't  think  so ;  I  left  it  open  for  Shep." 

"  Maybe  we'd  better  shut  it,  if  there's  some  animal 
prowling  around.  I'll  go  and  shut  it." 

Terry  tumbled  out  and  felt  for  his  boots. 

"No,  you  mustn't,  ma,"  he  cried.  "I'll  shut  it. 
I'd  just  as  lief." 

"  I  hate  to  have  you,  Terry.    You  won't  be  afraid, 


68  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

will  you?  And  you'll  be  careful.  I'll  hold  a  candle 
for  you.  You  can  take  the  gun  if  you  want  to.  Shep 
can  sleep  under  the  wagon,  can't  he.  We  wouldn't 
like  to  lose  our  chickens/' 

"  I'll  go,"  repeated  Terry. 

He  hauled  on  his  boots,  and  crept  for  the  trap-door 
and  the  ladder.  As  he  set  foot  on  the  top  round,  the 
cry  sounded  again — that  wailing,  hideous  cry  amidst 
the  stillness  and  the  night.  Now  Shep  was  pressed 
against  the  cabin  door,  barking  and  growling  but 
ready  to  come  in.  He,  too,  was  dubious — and  it  was 
not  often  that  Shep  backed  from  any  danger. 

With  a  wrapper  on,  and  her  hair  down,  Terry's 
mother  was  waiting,  a  lighted  candle  in  her  hand. 

"  Dear,  I  do  hate  to  have  you  go  out,"  she  faltered, 
anxiously.  "  Take  the  gun,  and  be  very  careful." 

Terry  grabbed  the  gun,  where  it  was  leaning  in  a 
corner.  He  opened  the  door,  and  with  his  mother 
close  behind  him,  candle  lifted,  he  stared  out.  Shep 
was  mighty  glad  to  have  him,  and  now  darted  forward 
a  little  way,  barking  and  growling.  He  may  have 
seen  something,  but  Terry  could  see  not  a  thing.  Well, 
he  was  in  for  it  now ;  and  with  a  "  Sick  'em,  Shep ! " 
and  a  bold  heart  he  stepped  forth. 

The  shed  was  around  the  corner  of  the  house;  his 
mother  followed  him  that  far,  to  the  corner,  holding 
the  candle  for  him.  Its  beams  were  feeble,  scarcely 
reaching  to  the  shed  and  corral.  The  canvas  hood  of 
the  wagon  glimmered  spectral  in  the  chill,  dark  air; 
and  beyond,  outside  the  circle  of  candle-light,  what 
lurked?  Terry's  feet  carried  him  forward,  but  his 


AN  ALARM  IN  THE  NIGHT  69 

heart  beat  so  fast  that  he  could  scarcely  breathe.  It 
took  all  his  spunk,  to  cross  the  haunted  space,  even 
though  Shep  formed  the  advance.  However,  his 
mother  would  have  gone — and  that  made  him  ashamed 
to  show  the  white  feather. 

Glaring  right  and  left,  he  trudged  ahead,  his  finger 
upon  the  trigger  of  the  heavy  gun.  Hurrah,  he  had 
reached  the  shed  at  last,  and  it  didn't  take  him  long  to 
close  that  door  and  fasten  it  with  the  thong  and  wooden 
staple.  The  old  mare  was  barely  visible,  her  head  in- 
quiringly stretched  over  the  top  pole  of  the  corral, 
as  near  to  him  as  she  could  get.  She  nickered  at  him 
appealingly.  He  stepped  and  patted  her  nose.  Why, 
she  was  trembling  all  over!  Shep  was  still  growling, 
but  his  growls  were  mingled  with  frightened  whim- 
pers. Terry  peered  across  the  corral — and  there,  at 
the  other  side,  he  actually  saw  two  pale  spots,  about 
three  feet  from  the  ground  and  about  six  inches 
apart.  Eyes!  Wild  animal  eyes! 

Terry's  heart  gave  a  tremendous  thump,  he  caught 
his  breath,  but  up  to  his  shoulder  leaped  the  gun,  and 
almost  before  its  butt  touched  him  he  had  blazed  away 
— bang !  He  didn't  take  time  to  aim ;  but  by  the  flare 
he  was  certain  that  he  glimpsed  a  long  body  turn  and 
in  a  single  bound  disappear. 

"  Terry !  "  called  his  mother,  frantically.  "  What's 
the  matter  ?  Are  you  all  right  ?  Terry !  " 

"  I'm  all  right,  ma,"  answered  Terry,  excited. 
"  Something  was  out  here  at  the  corral." 

"Did  you  shoot  it?" 

"  I  don't  believe  so."     He  ran  around  the  corral, 


70  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

with  his  second  barrel  ready.  "  No,  'm.  'Tisn't  here. 
I'm  going  to  shoot  again,  though,  to  scare  it."  And 
"  Bang!  "  went  his  second  barrel. 

Shep  had  darted  lorward,  at  the  first  shot.  Now 
back  he  came,  whining,  his  bristles  high  but  his  tail 
between  his  legs.  Whatever  he  had  pursued,  he  had 
gone  quite  near  enough  to,  evidently. 

"  Come  in,  Terry.  Won't  you,  please  ?  "  besought 
Terry's  mother. 

'  Yes,  'm.    It's  gone,  anyhow." 

Feeling  rather  satisfied  with  himself,  Terry  strode 
for  the  house.  He  stopped  at  the  wagon  and  invited 
Shep  into  it — a  shelter  which  Shep  somehow  was  not 
loth  to  accept,  instead  of  the  exposed  ground  under- 
neath. He  curled  himself  away,  growling. 

"What  do  you  suppose  that  was?"  asked  Terry's 
mother,  lighting  Terry  into  the  house  again. 

"  I  don't  know,  ma,"  said  Terry.  "  But  it  was  big 
and  had  everything  scared  stiff.  I  guess  it  was  what 
yelled  and  woke  us  up." 

"  Well,  I  don't  like  such  animals  prowling  around," 
confessed  his  mother. 

"  I'm  not  afraid  any  more,  now,"  asserted  Terry. 
And  he  wasn't.  He  was  over  the  worst.  "  Whatever  it 
is,  it  had  better  keep  away  from  our  place." 


CHAPTER  VI 

TERRY   MEETS    THE  ENEMY 

THE  beast  did  not  scream  again;  at  least,  they  did 
not  hear  it,  and  the  morning  dawned  bright  and  peace- 
ful. Terry  awakened  to  the  voice  of  his  mother  calling 
up  the  ladder  way.  As  he  dressed  in  a  jiffy  he  could 
smell  the  aroma  of  breakfast  cooking.  Through  the 
open  window  of  his  loft  the  sun  streamed ;  and  looking 
out  while  he  pulled  on  his  boots  he  could  see  the  green 
of  brush  and  meadow  stretching  away,  to  the  creek  and 
the  timber  patch.  And  it  all  belonged  to  them — to  his 
father  and  mother  and  him ! 

Well,  there  was  lots  to  be  done,  but  it  would  be  fun 
to  work  for  oneself  and  carve  a  home  out  of  the 
wilderness.  Already  the  chickens  were  anxious  to  be 
up  and  at  it,  for  they  were  complaining  as  the  shafts 
of  light  struck  through  the  cracks  in  the  shed.  Buck 
and  Spot  were  in  sight,  industriously  grazing. 

Terry  hustled  down  the  ladder,  exchanged  a  brisk 
good-morning  and  a  sound  kiss  with  his  mother;  and 
grabbing  the  hand-basin  stepped  outside  to  wash. 
Shep  came  bounding  to  him,  for  greeting,  and  in  the 
corral  the  old  mare  and  her  colt,  waiting  for  breakfast, 
were  safe  and  sound  also.  The  beast  visitor  of  the 
night  might  have  been  only  a  dream. 

After  washing,  Terry  made  a  bee-line  for  the  corral, 


72  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

to  search  the  spot  at  which  he  had  pointed  the  gun.  He 
had  shot  too  high,  that  was  certain;  for  the  bottom 
edge  of  the  load  had  barely  scraped  the  top  rail.  So 
there  were  no  blood  marks — but  in  the  soft  ground 
below  there  were  paw  tracks.  Yes,  sir.  Why,  the 
beast  had  worn  almost  a  little  path,  as  if  he  had  trotted 
back  and  forth  along  the  bottom  rail!  Jiminy!  No 
wonder  the  old  mare  was  frightened,  with  that  thing 
stalking  her  and  her  colt,  in  the  darkness.  Terry 
felt  a  little  shaky  merely  at  the  tracks ;  sniffing  at  them, 
Shep  dropped  his  bushy  tail  and  growled. 

Plainly  enough,  no  common  prowler  was  this;  no 
wolf  or  coyote.  But  before  Terry  had  finished  ex- 
amining, his  mother  called  him  to  breakfast. 

"  Terry  ?    Breakfast.    Where  are  you,  dear  ?  " 

"  I'm  coming,"  answered  Terry.  He  let  the  chickens 
out,  and  hurried  back. 

"  I  saw  where  that  animal  was,"  he  announced, 
breathless.  "It  left  a  regular  path  where  it  walked 
up  and  down  outside  the  corral.  I  didn't  hit  it,  though. 
I  shot  too  high." 

"  Oh,  Terry !  "  gasped  his  mother.  "  What  kind 
of  tracks.  Not  bear  ?  " 

"  Don't  think  so.  They're  big  round  tracks,  more 
like  wolf  tracks." 

"  Was  it  a  wolf,  then?  I  never  heard  a  wolf  make 
that  noise." 

"  Couldn't  be  a  wolf.  Shep's  not  afraid  of  a  wolf; 
he'd  tackle  a  wolf,  any  time." 

"  Dear  me !  "  sighed  his  mother.  "  I  don't  like  to 
have  such  things  around.  I  wish  your  father  was 
here." 


TERRY  MEETS  THE  ENEMY  73 

"  Don't  you  worry,  ma,"  comforted  Terry.  "  I'll 
fix  it  if  it  doesn't  keep  away.  I'll  watch  to-night." 

"  But  it  might  get  you! "  protested  his  mother. 
"  And  then  what  would  I  do?  " 

"Shucks!"  scoffed  Terry.  "I'll  hide  on  top  the 
shed,  with  the  gun;  and  when  it  comes — bang!  " 

His  mother  laughed. 

"  I  really  believe  you  would,"  she  said.  "  But  we'll 
see.  Anyway,  what  will  we  do  to-day  ?  There  are  so 
many  things." 

"  Got  to  water  the  mare  and  her  colt,  and  stake  her 
out,"  answered  Terry,  business-like.  "  Feed  the  chick- 
ens, first,  and  let  'em  rustle.  Suppose  I'd  better  make 
the  garden." 

"  You  feed  the  chickens  while  I'm  clearing  off  the 
table;  and  then  we'll  look  about  the  ranch.  I  didn't 
half  see  it  last  evening." 

Terry  threw  the  chickens  a  few  handfuls  of  grain — 
and  he  noted  that  the  grain  sack  was  getting  low.  He 
left  the  mare  and  her  colt  to  wait  a  little  longer,  while 
he  and  his  mother  toured  the  premises. 

On  the  side  of  a  small  hill  back  of  the  cabin  they 
found  the  spring.  Mr.  Richards  had  hollowed  it  out, 
so  that  the  water  stood  two  feet  deep  and  could  be 
dipped  up,  clear  and  cold.  Thence,  from  the  edge  of 
the  hole,  it  trickled  away,  and  was  lost  in  the  sod. 

"  We  ought  to  build  a  spring  house,  Terry,"  proposed 
his  mother.  "  Like  we  had  back  home — in  our  other 
home,  I  mean.  We  can  lead  the  water  nearer  the 
cabin,  can't  we,  and  set  our  butter  and  milk  in  it,  to 
keep  them  cool ! " 


74  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

"Sure,"  agreed  Terry,  manfully.  "And  we  can 
sink  a  barrel  with  a  lid  on  it,  for  dipping  water  out  of." 

That  was  one  job.  The  dugout,  too — and  Terry 
figured  on  how  he  could  add  the  spring  house  to  it  and 
lead  the  water  there — would  require  fixing  over.  His 
mother  thought  they  should  have  better  steps  into  it, 
and  it  needed  more  shelves,  and  the  roof  leaked.  An- 
other job.  And  the  window  sashes  must  be  attached 
to  the  cabin  windows,  before  the  flies  got  too  bad.  And 
the  wagon  still  contained  a  mass  of  stuff  which  must 
be  distributed ;  and  the  wagon  top  ought  to  be  removed, 
so  that  the  wagon  might  be  stowed  in  under  cover,  out 
of  the  rain.  But  the  kitchen  garden  seemed  to  be  of 
the  most  urgent  importance,  and  before  she  went  in 
to  set  the  cabin  more  to  rights,  Terry's  mother  selected 
the  place  where  the  garden  should  be  digged. 

He  took  the  mare  and  her  colt  to  water.  The  creek 
was  a  dandy,  by  daylight ;  quite  wide,  and  looked  deep 
and  "  fishy,"  and  he  made  up  his  mind  that  he'd  try 
it  with  hook  and  line  just  as  soon  as  he  could  get 
an  hour  or  two  off.  If  it  had  fish  in  it,  what  luck! 
He  looked  well  at  the  timber  patch,  for  the  turkeys, 
or  whatever  they  were;  but  he  didn't  see  any.  It 
was  a  large  patch,  a  real  little  forest,  thick  with  brush 
and  trees :  a  good  haunt  for  that  beast.  Shep  kept  well 
clear  of  it,  which  was  suspicious;  and  at  the  creek's 
edge  the  mare  snorted  and  stared  about  before  drink- 
ing. And  see — there  in  the  soft  mud  just  above, 
was  the  beast's  track,  again ! 

It  was  clearly  imprinted — five  toes,  forming  a  fringe 
for  a  round  pad  impressed  the  size  of  his  hand.  Now 


TERRY  MEETS  THE  ENEMY  75 

Shep  had  found  it,  and  sniffing,  shrank,  to  cower 
back,  growling.  The  track  alone  was  enough  for  Shep, 
who  rarely  before  had  showed  such  fear.  Pondering, 
Terry  conducted  the  old  mare  back,  toward  the  cabin, 
and  staked  her  out  to  graze.  He  stripped  the  rattle- 
snake of  its  skin,  and  tacked  the  split  hide  broadside 
on  the  cabin.  Threw  the  carcass  to  the  chickens.  Now 
he  must  tackle  the  garden. 

His  mother,  bustling  about  the  cabin  and  actually 
singing,  occasionally  looked  out,  to  watch  the  prog- 
ress. Terry  sweated  and  puffed,  wielding  the  spade. 
Whew,  but  this  was  hard  work !  The  prairie  sod  was 
thick  and  tough,  forming  a  mat  laid  firmly  and  trod- 
den ever  more  firm  by  the  march  of  the  years.  It  was 
full  of  the  roots  of  sage  and  other  shrubs,  and  Terry's 
spade  was  constantly  getting  tangled.  In  fact,  he  had 
to  fight  for  every  inch,  before  he  could  tear  the  spade- 
fuls loose  and  turn  them  over. 

"  I  don't  believe  you  can  ever  do  it,  Terry,"  spoke 
his  mother,  surveying  him  as  he  stopped  to  take  breath 
and  wipe  his  face. 

"  You  wait,"  replied  Terry,  struck  with  a  thought. 
"  I'll  use  the  plow."  He  dropped  the  spade  and  hustled 
away. 

The  plow  was  in  pieces,  having  been  taken  apart 
so  as  to  be  packed  easier.  It  was  a  new  plow,  but  all 
the  bolts  were  hanging  to  it,  and  after  a  little  figuring 
and  about  half  an  hour's  tussle  he  had  it  put  together. 
Then  he  must  yoke  Spot  and  Buck  and  bring  them  up, 
and  attach  them  to  it.  He  knew  how  to  drive  them, 
at  least,  whether  or  not  he  knew  how  to  plow;  that 


;6  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

he  would  learn,  somehow.     He  might  as  well  begin 
now  as  later. 

His  mother  stood  watching,  as  at  his  word  Buck  and 
Spot  dragged  the  plow  on  its  side,  to  position,  and  with 
a  heave  he  turned  it  upright.  Now,  he  supposed,  all 
that  he  need  do  was  to  hold  to  the  handles  and  bid 
the  oxen  go  ahead,  and  keep  them  in  a  straight  line. 

"Buck!  Spot!  Yip!  Yip  with  you!  Haw,  Buck! 
Now!  Hep!  Gwan!" 

They  tugged;  with  a  jump  the  plow  blade  bit  into 
the  sod,  almost  burying  itself,  and  stuck  fast,  throwing 
Terry  forward  between  the  handles.  Whew ! 

"Whoa,  Buck!  Spot!  Whoa,  now."  And  swing- 
ing his  legs  and  bearing  down  hard  Terry  gradually 
raised  the  blade.  He  must  not  let  it  dig  so  deep,  again. 
"Gwan!  Yip,  Buck!  Spot!  Gee!  Whoa-oa,  gee! 
Now!  Yip!  Yip!" 

Pitching  Terry  to  and  fro,  and  tearing  his  arms  in 
their  sockets,  the  plow  forged  ahead,  sometimes  ripping 
the  sod  in  a  great  welt  of  rich  black  earth,  again  skip- 
ping a  notch  or  two  and  barely  scratching  the  surface. 
But  Terry  was  afraid  to  halt,  and  drove  on  to  the  end, 
where  he  stopped  the  team  and  looked  back.  His 
mother  was  laughing. 

"  Why,  Terry,"  she  said.  "  You're  cutting  a  pattern. 
Is  that  easier  than  digging  with  the  spade  ?  " 

Terry  scratched  his  head,  and  grinned.  That  was  a 
funny  furrow — as  crooked  as  a  rabbit  track  in  the 
brush ! 

"  Well,  I've  got  to  learn,"  he  asserted.  "  It's  harder 
than  it  looks,  though.  I  can  finish  with  the  spade." 


TERRY  MEETS  THE  ENEMY  77 

He  turned  Buck  and  Spot  about,  and  started  around. 
He  did  a  little  better,  although  with  many  a  "  Haw !  " 
and  "  Whoa!  "  and  "  Gee!  "  He  was  making  a  fine 
straight  furrow,  barring  a  few  bulges  to  right  and  left  ; 
the  plow  certainly  beat  the  spade,  for  cutting  the  sod, 
and  progressed  with  a  series  of  pops  as  it  snapped  the 
tough  roots.  The  worst  feature  was  those  big  roots, 
of  the  shrubs.  Once  in  a  while  they  proved  to  be  verit- 
able tartars,  snagging  the  blade  fast,  throwing  Terry 
into  the  handles,  and  then  suddenly  bursting  loose 
with  a  jerk  that  wrenched  him  almost  in  two.  The 
plow  was  stronger  than  he,  he  found. 

Still,  he  determined  to  stick  at  it,  and  take  his  medi- 
cine. If  he  was  to  be  a  man  and  run  the  ranch,  he 
certainly  must  know  how  to  plow.  And  shaking  his 
head  when  his  mother  urged  him  to  quit  and  rest,  he 
was  so  interested  in  making  each  furrow  better  than 
the  others,  that  the  hail  of  a  new  voice  came  so  unex- 
pectedly as  to  make  him  jump. 

"What  do  you  think  you're  doing?     Plowing?" 

It  was  George  Stanton,  sitting  on  a  horse — a  spotted 
horse — and  eying  him  critically. 

"  Sure,"  answered  Terry.  "  Beats  spading.  Where*  d 
you  come  from  ?  "  And  he  trudged  over,  to  shake 
hands.  He  was  tremendously  glad  to  see  George,  and 
he  was  rather  proud  to  have  been  found  hard  at  work, 
like  a  regular  ranchman.  That  plowed  patch  showed 
up  in  great  shape.  It  was  no  shucks  of  a  patch,  even 
if  some  of  the  furrows  were  crooked ! 

"  Pop  and  I  rode  up  from  Manhattan.  We're  going 
back  and  get  the  outfit.  Say,  did  you  know  our  ranch 


78  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

joins  yours,  right  south  ?  Well,  it's  so.  I  was  hoping 
this  was  your  cabin,  when  I  saw  it.  I  rode  over  on 
purpose  to  spy  out.  Come  on  and  go  back  with  me, 
and  I'll  show  you  where  we  live.  You  haven't  got  to 
plow,  have  you?  Where's  your  father?  " 

That  sobered  Terry.  Where  was  his  father?  He 
didn't  mind  the  plowing,  but — oh,  pshaw,  his  father! 

"  Why,  he  isn't  here.  My  father  isn't  here.  He  fell 
off  the  horse  in  the  creek,  when  we  were  crossing,  and 
we  don't  know  where  he  is.  We  can't  find  him,  but 
we've  his  hat,  and  I'm  getting  things  in  shape  until  he 


comes." 


"  Is  he  coming,  sure  ?  "  asked  George,  much  aston- 
ished. 

"  Of  course  he  is,"  declared  Terry.  "  Ma  thinks 
so  and  so  do  I." 

"  Aren't  you  going  to  look  for  him  ?  " 

"  We  did  look  for  him,  till  we  had  to  move  on  and 
get  someplace  before  dark.  And  a  man  named  Sol 
Judy's  helping  us.  He  found  the  hat,  away  up  in  the 
willows ;  didn't  he,  ma  ?  "  For  Mrs.  Richards  was 
standing  in  the  door  of  the  cabin,  ready  to  greet  George. 

She  nodded. 

"  Won't  you  come  in,  George  ?  It's  nearly  dinner 
time." 

"  No,  'm ;  thank  you.  I've  got  to  go  back.  Is  that 
the  truth  Terry's  telling  me — about  his  father?  I'm 
awful  sorry." 

"  Yes,  it's  the  truth ;  but  his  f ather'll  come,  we're 
sure.  We  sha'n't  give  him  up;  shall  we,  Terry!  We 
did  look  for  him,  but  it's  such  a  big  country,  and  there 


TERRY  MEETS  THE  ENEMY  79 

are  so  few  people,  we  don't  know  exactly  what  to  do. 
You  can  tell  your  father  to  keep  a  watch-out  for  him, 
will  you  ?  He's  wandered  off,  we  think.  Terry's  doing 
the  man's  work,  you  see.  We  ought  to  get  our  garden 
in;  so  he  can't  go  back  with  you,  now." 

"  I'm  awful  sorry,"  repeated  George.  "  Yes,  I'll 
tell  pop,  and  I'll  bring  him  over  as  soon  as  I  can.  We 
can  help  you  out,  too.  Our  house'll  be  only  about  a 
mile  and  a  step  from  here,  other  side  of  that  hill.  We 
all  can  go  to  and  fro  easy.  Did  you  kill  that  snake? 
He's  a  whopper." 

"  Yes ;  he  was  under  the  floor.  And  we  had  another 
caller  last  night.  Some  old  animal  howled  around  and 
scared  Shep  and  the  horses  and  ma  and  me,  too,  so  I 
went  out  and  shot  at  him,  right  beside  the  corral.  His 
tracks  are  there  yet." 

"Whereabouts?  Did  you  hit  him?  Lemme  see," 
demanded  George,  excited  and  tumbling  off  his  horse. 

"  Along  the  fence,  other  side  the  corral,"  directed 
Terry. 

Away  ran  George,  and  examined. 

"  I  should  say !  "  he  panted,  coming  back.  "  I  know 
what  that  was.  It  was  a  panther.  We  had  one  in  the 
timber  near  our  farm  in  Indiana.  You  want  to  look 
out.  He'll  take  all  your  chickens  and  that  colt.  He  was 
after  the  colt  last  night,  I  bet  you.  Panthers  would 
rather  have  a  colt  than  anything  else." 

"  Goodness  me !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Richards.  "  I 
guess  it  was.  I  never  thought  about  a  panther." 

"He  lives  down  in  that  timber,  yonder.  That's 
where  he  lives,"  asserted  George,  importantly.  "  I'll 
tell  pop  and  he'll  come  over  and  shoot  him  for  you." 


80  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

"  Shucks !  "  said  Terry.  "  We've  got  a  lot  of  turkeys 
— wild  turkeys — roosting  in  that  timber.  We  saw  'em 
last  night ;  didn't  we,  ma !  I'm  going  down  there  and 
get  one,  and  if  Mr.  Panther  shows  up  I'll  get  him,  too." 

"  Maybe  he'll  get  you"  retorted  George.  "  Wait  for 
us,  and  we'll  all  go  after  him." 

"  I'm  not  afraid  of  him,"  called  Terry,  as  George 
galloped  off  with  a  wave  of  his  hand. 

"  Don't  talk  foolishly,  Terry,"  rebuked  his  mother. 
"  You'd  better  not  meddle  with  that  panther  until  he 
meddles  with  you.  If  you  aren't  afraid  of  him  you 
ought  to  be.  Brave  people  aren't  ashamed  to  be 
afraid." 

"  Well,  he  can't  have  our  colt,"  declared  Terry,  stub- 
bornly. "  He  was  after  it  last  night  and  maybe  he'll 
be  after  it  again  to-night.  Anyhow,  I  can  go  down 
after  a  turkey,  can't  I  ?  " 

"  Sometimes,"  smiled  his  mother.  "  But  I'll  go,  too, 
to  look  after  you." 

"  Oh,  mother !  "  scoffed  Terry.  "  I've  got  to  learn  to 
take  care  of  myself,  haven't  I  ?  I'll  have  to  go  lots  of 
places  where  you  can't  go,  if  I  run  this  ranch."  And 
he  resumed  his  plowing. 

He  kept  steadily  at  it  until  dinner;  and  really,  he 
accomplished  a  great  deal.  In  fact,  the  garden  was 
about  all  plowed.  Next  he  would  finish  it  with  the 
spade,  and  then  he'd  have  to  rake  out  the  roots,  and 
smooth  it  over,  and  put  in  the  seeds.  More  than  one 
day  would  be  required,  to  make  that  garden — which 
was  a  big  one,  for  corn  and  potatoes  and  squash  and 
everything.  Anyway,  the  plowed  ground  was  a  be- 
ginning, and  gave  the  place  a  farm  look. 


TERRY  MEETS  THE  ENEMY  81 

His  mother  had  done  wonders,  in  tidying  the  inside 
of  the  cabin  and  driving  pegs  to  hang  things  on;  and 
after  dinner  she  had  Terry  help  her  while  she  stretched 
muslin  against  the  ceiling  of  the  loft,  also,  and  tacked 
it  there,  as  a  dust  preventer.  The  loft  had  a  much 
more  cosy  air. 

"  We  must  shingle  that  roof  some  day,  Terry,"  she 
said.  "  Your  father  put  the  sod  on  because  it  was 
quicker,  but  he  said  it  wouldn't  be  permanent.  It's  so 
dirty,  and  it's  liable  to  get  soaked  through  and  drip 
mud." 

"I'll  shingle  it,"  assured  Terry.  "Got  to  have 
shingles,  first." 

"  Maybe  Mr.  Stanton  will  know  how  to  make  them," 
she  proposed.  "  A  sod  roof  is  very  warm,  though, 
they  claim;  and  I  suppose  the  longer  it  stays  the  harder 
it  gets." 

"  We  can  plant  some  vegetables  up  there,  ma," 
chuckled  Terry.  "  It's  growing  hay  for  us,  already." 

"  And  sun-flowers,"  added  his  mother.  "  I  saw  a 
sun-flower  with  a  bud." 

Terry  had  thought  to  finish  the  garden  to-day,  but 
after  dinner  he  was  easily  persuaded  to  change  off. 
The  plow  handles  had  blistered  his  palms,  his  back 
felt  twisted,  and  he  had  barked  his  shins  against  various 
obstacles,  until  he  was  rather  of  a  wreck.  Yet  this 
garden  patch  was  nothing  as  compared  with  the  half 
mile  square  of  acres  waiting  to  be  disposed  of. 

This  afternoon  all  that  he  did  was  to  remove  the 
hood  from  the  wagon,  by  stripping  off  the  canvas  and 
extracting  the  hickory  bows  from  their  sockets;  and 


82  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

to  take  most  of  the  stuff  out  of  the  wagon ;  and  with  his 
mother's  help  to  back  the  wagon  under  the  shed. 

By  the  time  this  had  been  accomplished  it  was  almost 
sunset,  and  he  thought  upon  those  turkeys.  In  his 
opinion  he  deserved  a  turkey,  and  so  did  his  mother. 
Of  course,  at  first  she  didn't  want  him  to  go. 

"  I'll  just  be  down  at  the  edge  of  the  timber,  ma," 
he  explained,  "  and  watch  there,  and  when  the  turkeys 
come  in  to  roost  I'll  shoot  one  and  hurry  right  home." 

"  You  won't  go  into  the  timber,  Terry  ? "  she 
cautioned. 

"  No,  'm." 

"  And  you  won't  stay  long,  and  you'll  stay  where  I 
can  see  you  ?  " 

"  But  I'll  have  to  hide,  ma,"  protested  Terry.  "  If 
you  see  me  the  turkeys*!!  see  me,  too." 

Finally  she  said  that  he  might  go;  and  slinging  on 
powder-flask  and  shot-pouch,  taking  Shep  and  the  gun 
he  hurried  off  before  she  changed  her  mind.  He 
couldn't  stay  long,  anyway,  because  he  had  the  chores 
to  do. 

The  creek  skirted  the  edge  of  the  timber.  He  had  an 
idea  that  the  turkeys  would  drink,  before  going  to  bed ; 
and  that  if  he  hid  between  the  water  and  the  trees  he'd 
have  a  better  chance.  So  he  crossed  the  creek  by  a 
series  of  fast  jumps,  at  a  shallow  place,  and  was  on  the 
edge  of  the  timber. 

He  halted,  and  peered  in,  and  listened.  Now  in  the 
daylight,  with  Shep  and  the  gun,  he  was  not  a  bit 
afraid  of  any  panther  if  he  could  only  see  it.  He 
couldn't  see  it.  A  panther  would  be  very  silly  to  sit 


TERRY  MEETS  THE  ENEMY  83 

out  in  sight.  But  the  timber  was  a  great  place.  A 
panther  ought  to  like  all  that  brush  and  those  thickly 
branched  trees ;  yet  perhaps  he  wasn't  here  at  all.  Terry 
cautiously  advanced,  his  every  sense  alert  for  danger, 
and  at  his  heels  Shep  imitated  him. 

A  semi-circle  of  flowering  bushes,  on  the  edge  of  the 
timber,  fronting  the  creek  and  giving  a  view  up  and 
down  the  creek,  seemed  to  offer  a  splendid  ambush 
for  turkeys.  He  could  see  the  cabin  from  it,  too — and 
his  mother,  who  had  stood  watching  him  ever  since  he 
had  left.  He  waved  at  her  figure,  and  she  waved  back; 
and  then  he  sank  into  hiding.  Shep  crouched  beside 
him. 

It  was  pleasant  here,  with  the  low  sun  flooding  the 
landscape,  and  scarce  a  sound  to  be  heard  except  the 
twittering  of  a  few  birds.  All  the  broad  valley  basked 
in  evening.  Shep  went  to  sleep,  and  Terry  had  about 
concluded  that  they  both  were  due  to  return  to  chores 
without  their  turkey,  when  he  heard  a  peculiar  little 
piping  babble.  He  strained  his  ears,  and  gazed 
nervously  up  and  down  the  creek.  That  babble  was 
turkey  babble,  just  as  on  a  farm !  Shep  had  awakened, 
and  with  ears  pricked  he,  also,  was  gazing  around. 

Hah !  There  they  came — the  turkeys,  ambling  along 
the  creek,  on  this  side,  as  if  they  might  have  alighted 
just  beyond,  or  have  emerged  from  the  timber.  Led 
by  a  fussy  big  gobbler,  they  were  pecking  about,  or 
preening  themselves,  as  they  crossed  a  curve  of  the 
creek  course,  where  the  brush  was  thin  and  low  and 
sunny.  This  evidently  was  their  feeding  and  drinking 
hour,  before  they  went  to  roost. 


84  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

What  huge,  beautiful  birds  they  were !  Larger  than 
tame  turkeys,  and  much  more  shiny.  The  big  gobbler's 
mighty  breast  glinted  as  if  he  wore  a  coat  of  brazen 
mail,  and  his  broad  tail  spread  like  an  aurora  borealis — 
or  at  least  like  the  pictures  of  one. 

The  flock  of  turkeys  were  heading  in  Terry's  direc- 
tion, and  if  he  waited  long  enough  they  were  likely  to 
come  right  within  gunshot  of  the  ambush.  He  watched 
them,  hoping  and  admiring.  He  made  up  his  mind  to 
choose  one  of  the  smaller  birds,  and  not  the  big  old 
gobbler  who  was  the  father  of  the  flock.  On  a  sudden, 
while  his  mind  was  full  of  turkey,  he  heard  a  peculiar 
scratchy  noise  behind  him.  Around  he  twisted,  very 
quick. 

From  the  crotch  of  the  nearest  tree,  only  about  ten 
yards  away,  back  of  him,  the  panther,  or  a  panther, 
standing,  snarled  at  him  an  instant,  then  leaped  lightly 
to  the  ground  and  was  gone.  Terry  stared,  almost 
paralyzed  with  astonishment.  Of  course  it  was  a 
panther — a  long-bodied,  long-tailed,  round-faced  tawny 
cat,  larger  than  Shep;  and  such  a  mouth,  flannel  red 
and  set  with  glistening  white  fangs !  Why,  that  panther 
must  have  been  lying  in  the  tree  all  the  time,  probably 
watching  him  and  Shep;  and  the  scratchy  sound  was 
the  sound  of  its  claws  when  it  rose  to  leap  down. 

Half  rising,  clutching  his  cocked  gun,  Terry  listened, 
and  searched  the  brush  with  wide  eyes.  Shep  was 
trembling.  He  didn't  like  panthers;  they  were  new 
to  him.  Now  the  turkeys  were  murmuring  inquiringly, 
with  heads  up — and  see,  the  panther  was  stalking  them. 
That  was  why  he  had  left  the  tree.  He  preferred 


TERRY  MEETS  THE  ENEMY  85 

turkey  to  boy  or  dog.  Terry  glimpsed  the  tawny  shape 
of  him,  low  against  the  ground,  crawling  cat-like  from 
bush  to  bush,  over  near  the  turkey  flock. 

Inconceivably  swift,  and  even  before  the  turkeys 
had  located  him  or  Terry  was  real  certain,  himself,  the 
panther  had  launched  in  two  springs :  the  first  carried 
him  into  the  open,  the  second  instantly  carried  him  on 
top  of  a  turkey — the  big  gobbler  himself.  With  a 
chorus  of  frightened  peeps  the  rest  of  the  flock  scat- 
tered and  disappeared,  leaving  there  in  the  open  space 
the  great  cat,  crouched,  the  big  turkey  under  his  spread 
paws — just  like  any  cat  with  a  captured  bird. 

The  turkey  either  was  dead,  or  numbed  with  fright, 
for  he  made  never  a  move.  The  panther's  long  tail 
switched  from  side  to  side,  as  he  glared  about,  chal- 
lenging anybody  to  dispute  him.  That  made  Terry 
mad.  Why,  the  panther  had  picked  out  the  best  turkey 
in  the  flock ;  Terry  had  wanted  that  turkey  for  himself, 
but  had  passed  him  by  because  he  was  so  kingly  and 
was  the  father  of  the  flock.  And  now  the  panther  had 
taken  him.  Up  bobbed  Terry,  and  forward  he  charged, 
shouting  angrily. 

"  Get  out  o'  there!  Drop  that  turkey!  Drop  him, 
I  say!" 

The  great  cat's  eyes  narrowed — they  were  yellow 
eyes — and  blazed  with  a  cruel  green  light,  while  flat  to 
his  head  fell  his  ears  and  his  mouth  opened  in  a 
prodigious  savage  snarl.  Terry  could  see  past  his 
inch-long  fangs  and  his  curled  red  tongue,  far  into  his 
crimson  throat.  His  round  face  was  the  face  of  a 
demon.  He  did  not  mean  to  budge.  Shep  barked 
wildly,  but  kept  close  to  his  master. 


86  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

To  Terry's  shoulder  jumped  his  gun — his  father's 
gun,  that  is ;  longer  than  he  was  tall.  "  Bang !  Bang !  " 
spoke  both  barrels,  almost  at  once.  Terry  scarcely  was 
conscious  of  taking  aim,  he  was  so  indignant  at  the 
panther ;  but  with  the  reports  the  panther  gave  a  spring 
straight  into  the  air,  and  rolling  over  and  over  threshed 
about  on  the  ground,  making  a  bloody  trail.  Shep 
darted  forward 

"Shep!  Come  here,  Shep!  Here!  Quit  it!" 
ordered  Terry,  so  excited  that  he  was  forgetting  to  re- 
load. 

Shep  had  boldly  closed  with  the  writhing  cat;  the 
two  hind  paws  caught  him  in  the  chest  and  with  a  con- 
vulsive kick  sent  him  flying  head  over  heels  a  dozen 
feet  away.  But  even  by  the  time  Shep  had  gathered 
himself  together,  somewhat  subdued,  the  panther  was 
quiet;  the  kick  had  been  his  last  effort.  To  tell  the 
truth,  Terry  had  shot  his  head  almost  off,  and  what- 
ever he  had  done  he  had  done  blindly.  Now  he  was 
stretched  and  motionless ;  he  was  a  dead  panther. 


CHAPTER  VII 

HARD    WORK    AHEAD 

TERRY  stood  panting,  not  quite  certain  that  a  panther 
with  head  blown  to  smithereens  was  done  being  dan- 
gerous. Shep,  a  long  red  scratch  down  his  chest,  where 
the  animal's  claws  had  ripped  him,  advanced,  bristles 
up,  tail  low,  nose  out-stretched  to  smell.  He  sniffed 
gingerly,  in  a  circle,  before  he  gained  confidence  to  get 
within  striking  distance.  But  the  panther  did  not  stir. 
Now  the  turkey  *piped  feebly,  and  rustled  in  the  grass, 
and  drew  Terry's  attention.  He  had  forgotten  the  big 
gobbler. 

The  big  gobbler  wasn't  dead,  but  he  was  badly 
shaken.  One  wing  hung  as  if  broken,  and  his  neck  was 
crooked  from  a  bite  apparently  clear  through  it.  They 
cautiously  approached  him.  A  turkey  gobbler  was  no 
mean  enemy,  when  fighting  mad.  However,  this  gob- 
bler was  harmless.  His  eyes  were  closed  with  a  film, 
and  although  he  fluttered  about,  it  was  in  a  dazed, 
drunken  fashion. 

"  Get  away,  Shep,"  ordered  Terry,  to  the  curious 
Shep,  And  he  added,  with  a  great  idea :  "  I'm  going 
to  take  him  home." 

It  required  considerable  nerve  to  touch  that  gobbler, 
harmless  though  he  might  be.  Terry  busily  stripped 


88  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

off  his  coat,  and  throwing  it  over  the  gobbler  tied  the 
arms,  thus  wrapping  him  securely.  The  gobbler  was 
too  sick  to  resist;  in  fact,  the  handling  seemed  to 
frighten  him;  maybe  he  thought  that  the  panther  had 
returned  to  finish  him.  At  any  rate  he  cowed  right 
down,  as  if  dying,  and  let  Terry  do  with  him  as  was 
necessary. 

Now  Terry  was  in  a  fix.  That  turkey  weighed 
scandalously.  He  could  scarcely  carry  him  and  the 
gun,  too.  He  laid  the  turkey  carefully  down  and  con- 
sidered the  panther.  The  panther  was  longer  than 
Terry ;  his  tail  alone — no,  not  his  tail,  but  her  tail,  for 
Terry  saw  that  it  was  a  she  panther  instead  of  a  torn — 
was  longer  than  Terry.  He  might  have  slung  the 
panther  over  his  shoulder  and  dragged  her  that  way, 
and  he  much  wanted  to  do  it,  for  his  mother  to  see; 
but  there  was  the  big  turkey,  trussed  and  waiting. 
Well,  he  couldn't  leave  the  gobbler,  for  some  other 
panther  to  get,  maybe ;  and  he  certainly  was  not  going 
to  waste  his  panther,  either.  The  sun  had  set,  and 
dusk  was  oozing  in  amidst  the  brush. 

"Whoo-ee?"  He  heard  a  high  hail.  His  mother's 
voice.  He  stood  up  and  looked  toward  the  cabin. 
There  she  was,  already  half  way,  and  hastening 
anxiously  on,  summoned  by  the  shots.  Good  for  her! 
He  yodeled  back,  and  waved,  and  beckoned  to  her,  and 
ran  to  meet  her. 

"  What  is  it,  Terry?  What  did  you  shoot?  A  tur- 
key?" 

"  No,  but  I've  got  a  turkey,  and  something  else,  too. 
Come  and  see." 


HARD  WORK  AHEAD  89 

"  I  can't  cross  the  creek." 

"  All  right.    Wait  a  minute." 

Away  he  dashed,  pkshing  recklessly  through  the 
water,  and  grabbed  the  turkey.  He  staggered  with  it, 
across  again,  to  his  mother, 

"Why,  Terry!" 

"  It's  hurt,  ma.  I  didn't  shoot  it.  A  panther  jumped 
it.  We'll  take  it  home.  Maybe  it'll  get  well.  It's  a  big 
old  gobbler,  king  of  the  flock.  Now  wait  a  minute 


more." 


He  placed  the  helpless  gobbler  at  her  feet,  and  back 
he  sped,  to  get  the  panther.  He  made  no  bones  of 
catching  her  by  the  limp  tail  (it  was  like  a  furry  rope) 
and  hind  legs,  and  hoisting  her  on  his  shoulder,  where 
she  doubled  over  and  dragged  fore  and  aft.  Clutching 
his  faithful  gun,  away  he  went. 

It  was  hard  to  tell  which  was  Terry  and  which  was 
panther.  No  wonder,  when  he  approached,  breathless 
and  gory,  that  his  mother  threw  up  her  two  hands  and 
exclaimed : 

"  Terry !  Land  o'  goodness !  Where  did  you  get 
that  awful  creature  ?  " 

"  I  shot  it,  ma,"  panted  Terry.  "  It's  a  panther — a 
regular  panther.  She  jumped  the  turkey  and  I  popped 
her.  I  shot  her  head  off .  See?  Wish  I  hadn't.  You 
ought  to  have  seen  her  open  her  mouth  at  me!  Shep 
was  afraid,  too.  She  sent  him  flying.  It  was  lucky  for 
him  she  hadn't  any  head  left.  Look  where  she 
scratched  him  up  ?  " 

"  But,  Terry!  What  on  earth  are  you  going  to  do 
with  her?" 


90  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

"  Take  her  home,  of  course.  Skin  her.  Don't  be- 
lieve she's  good  to  eat.  You  carry  the  turkey  and  Til 
carry  her." 

"  Don't  you  come  near  me,  though/'  warned  his 
mother.  "  Isn't  the  turkey  dead,  too  ?  "  And  she 
gently  picked  up  the  gobbler,  wrapped  in  Terry's  coat 
with  his  blue  head  sticking  out  and  dangling. 

"  No,  not  unless  his  neck's  broken.  The  panther  bit 
it.  I  don't  think  it's  broken,  though.  His  wing  is. 
But  we  can  mend  his  wing.  We'll  keep  him,  anyhow ; 
and  if  he  gets  well  we'll  tame  him.  Maybe  I  can  catch 


some  more." 


So  they  trudged  homeward,  bearing  the  spoils  of  the 
chase;  and  a  strange  spectacle  they  made.  Terry  felt 
like  a  mighty  hunter ;  much  more  so  than  when  plowing 
a  garden.  To  think,  here  he  had  gone  out  just  a  little 
way  from  the  cabin,  and  on  his  own  land — his  and  his 
father's  and  mother's — had  got  a  wild  turkey  and  a  big 
panther !  Huh !  Wait  till  he  showed  George  Stanton ! 
And  there  was  the  rattlesnake,  too ! 

At  the  cabin  he  dumped  the  panther,  and  then  he  and 
his  mother  unwrapped  the  turkey  and  examined  him. 
Yes,  his  wing  was  broken,  but  his  neck  wasn't.  Some- 
how, although  the  panther's  fangs  had  penetrated 
through  and  through,  they  had  missed  the  bones.  One 
more  bite  was  needed.  Still,  the  gobbler  was  pretty 
sick.  They  bound  his  wing  close  to  his  side,  and  en- 
circled his  wounded  neck  with  a  strip  of  flannel,  and  put 
him  into  the  coop  in  which  the  chickens  had  ridden. 
There  they  left  him,  with  water  and  a  little  corn.  He 
lay  just  as  they  had  placed  him,  so  they  stretched  a 


HARD  WORK  AHEAD  91 

gunny-sack  over  the  front  of  the  coop,  to  shield 
him. 

Terry  couldn't  fuss  with  the  panther  any  more  just 
now,  for  the  chores  were  to  be  done.  The  old  mare 
and  her  colt  must  be  led  to  water  as  usual,  and  the 
chickens  must  be  shut  up,  and  wood  must  be  brought 
in  to  the  stove,  and  the  waterpail  must  be  filled,  and  so 
forth  and  so  forth.  He  promised  himself  that  he 
would  skin  the  panther  after  supper,  or  maybe  in  the 
morning. 

He  brought  in  an  armful  of  wood,  and  a  pail  of 
water,  and  went  for  the  mare.  She  snorted  at  him, 
and  pulled  back. 

"  It's  your  shirt  and  trousers,  Terry,"  called  his 
mother.  "  You're  all  blood.  I  don't  believe  you  can 
do  a  thing  with  her  until  you  change.  You  ought  to 
change,  anyway." 

That  was  queer.  No,  sir;  the  old  mare  was  afraid 
of  him.  She  smelled  the  panther.  Therefore  he  had 
to  bolt  up  to  his  loft  and  change  his  clothes.  Even  then 
she  was  very  suspicious. 

The  quicker  the  panther's  pelt  was  tackled,  the  easier 
would  it  be  removed.  But  after  supper  Terry  was 
simply  too  dog-tired  to  sit  up.  That  had  been  a  long 
day,  beginning  with  the  plowing  and  ending  with  the 
hunt.  Besides,  his  mother  wouldn't  let  him  bring  the 
panther  carcass  into  the  cabin,  because  of  the  muss  he 
would  make  with  it ;  and  to  skin  it  outdoors  by  candle 
flicker  would  take  all  night,  about.  Anyway — hee-yaw ! 
And  yawning  so  widely  that  his  mouth  rivaled  the 
panther's,  carrying  his  candle  he  climbed  the  ladder,  to 
bed.  That  was  a  good  place. 


92  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

Terry  was  determined  to  beat  his  mother  at  getting 
up,  in  the  morning,  and  to  make  a  start  on  the  panther 
before  breakfast.  The  night  passed  peacefully;  and 
when  the  sun  rose,  he  had  risen,  too.  He  stole  softly 
down,  boots  in  his  hands,  and  presently  was  busy  with 
butcher-knife  and  panther. 

He  had  "  skinned "  musk-rats  and  rabbits  and 
squirrels,  back  in  his  other  home,  but  this  great  animal 
was  a  different  matter.  The  pelt  was  so  thick !  He  was 
working  hard,  and  his  mother  was  at  last  stirring 
around,  when  he  heard  the  soft  hoof-thuds  of  a  pony. 
Shep  growled,  then  barked.  Terry  hastily  looked  up 
from  his  bloody  task  (of  which  he  was  sick  already) 
and  saw  trotting  across  the  prairie  bottom,  toward  the 
cabin,  two  riders.  Indians!  Yes,  but  Delawares,  for 
one  was  young  General  Jackson ! 

Terry  paused,  squatting  over  the  panther  carcass, 
and  waved  greeting. 

"  How-do-do  ? "  said  General  Jackson,  halting  his 
pony.  "  Where  get  'urn?  " 

Terry  rose,  gory  and  cramped. 

"  Down  in  the  timber." 

"WhokilPum?" 

"  I  did." 

"Huh!    When  kill 'urn?" 

"  Last  night." 

"Youkill'um?    AlPlone?" 

"  That' s  right.  Shot  her  head  off,"  asserted  Terry, 
proudly. 

General  Jackson  seemed  unbelieving.  He  grunted  a 
few  syllables  to  his  companion,  and  dismounted  from 
his  pony,  for  a  closer  inspection. 


HARD  WORK  AHEAD  93 

"How  see 'urn?" 

"  She  was  yelling  'round  the  house,  the  night  before, 
and  when  I  went  out  she  was  at  the  corral,  sneaking 
on  the  horses.  Shot  at  her  then,  but  didn't  hit  her. 
Then  I  went  down  to  the  timber  after  turkeys,  and  she 
was  right  in  a  tree  watching  me  but  I  didn't  know  it 
till  she  jumped  out  after  the  turkeys."  General  Jack- 
son was  listening  intently;  he  nodded  and  grunted. 
Terry  continued.  "  She  lit  on  top  of  a  turkey,  and  I 
ran  out  at  her  and  popped  her.  Gee,  she  was  mad  till 
I  blew  her  head  off.  And  I  got  the  turkey,  too.  He's 
in  a  coop.  Maybe  he's  going  to  live." 

"  Didn't  kill  turkey?  "  queried  General  Jackson. 

"  No.  Broke  his  wing  and  bit  him  in  the  neck,  is 
all." 

The  other  Indian,  who  was  very  dark  and  short, 
reached  and  patted  Terry  on  the  shoulder  and  uttered 
some  words. 

"  That  Black  Beaver.  Big  Delaware  hunter,"  quoth 
General  Jackson.  "  He  say  you  brave  boy ;  heap  brave. 
Huh !  You  no  kill  'um  panther,  'urn  panther  kill  you. 
Humph !  Heap  panther.  She  panther  more  bad  than 
he  panther.  You  be  big  hunter,  too.  When  Delaware 
kill  panther,  Delaware  proud.  What  you  do  now  ?  " 

"  I'm  skinning  her,"  explained  Terry.  "  Isn't  good 
to  eat,  is  she  ?  You  want  any  ?  " 

General  Jackson  drew  back  quickly,  and  shook  his 
head. 

"No.  Delaware  no  eat  panther.  Bad  medicine; 
make  bad  luck.  'Um  fur  no  good ;  not  now.  Fur  loose 
— see  ?  "  and  reaching  he  plucked  out  a  fingcrf ul  of 


94  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

hair;  evidently  the  panther  was  shedding,  the  season 
being  warm  spring.  "  Nail  'um  up,  on  cabin ;  tell  odder 
panthers  keep  away.  Mebbe  you  wear  claws  'round 
neck.  Tell  'um  people  you  big  hunter;  kill  panther." 

Terry  hadn't  thought  of  that!  It  sounded  like  a 
great  scheme,  though.  He  looked  reflectively  at  the 
carcass,  half  pealed.  Shucks!  Then  the  fur  wasn't 
any  use,  was  it  ?  Anyway,  he  could  tack  the  pelt  up,  to 
dry;  it  would  make  a  showing,  beside  the  rattlesnake 
skin.  Meanwhile  the  two  Delawares  were  fingering  the 
carcass,  and  were  especially  interested  in  the  long  tail, 
and  the  paws. 

"  You  know  how  skin  panther?  "  demanded  General 
Jackson.  "  Me  show." 

He  examined  Terry's  butcher-knife,  shook  his  head 
at  the  dullness  of  point  and  blade,  whipped  out  his  own 
knife  from  its  beaded  sheath,  and  with  Black  Beaver 
holding  the  carcass  and  turning  it,  cut  the  pelt  away 
with  astonishing  rapidity.  He  accomplished  more  in 
ten  minutes  than  Terry  had  accomplished  in  an  hour. 

"  Nail  'um  up,"  he  bade.  "  No  dress  'um.  Not  good 
'nough.  Better  one  'nodder  time.  Mebbe  get  'um  he 
panther,  when  'um  come  looking  for  'urn's  squaw." 

"Why?  Will  there  be  another  one?"  demanded 
Terry,  excited. 

General  Jackson  nodded. 

"  One  'um,  two  'um,"  he  said,  holding  up  two  fingers 
— and  Black  Beaver,  as  if  understanding,  nodded  also. 
"  One  'um  she  panther,  one  'um  he  panther.  Kill  'um 
snake  ?  "  he  asked,  seeing  the  rattler's  skin. 

"  Sure,"  answered  Terry,  feeling  quite  set  up  with 
himself. 


HARD  WORK  AHEAD  95 

"  Huh !  "  approved  General  Jackson.  He  and  Black 
Beaver  were  cutting  the  panther's  claws  from  the  pads. 
They  were  long,  cruel  claws,  sharp  as  needles  and 
curved  wickedly. 

"  Make  'um  neck,"  he  proffered — meaning  necklace. 
"  Put  on  boy.  Know  how  ?  " 

Terry  wasn't  certain  that  he  did. 

"  Me  take  'um,  have  squaw  make  'um/'  proffered 
General  Jackson.  "  Bring  'um  back.  All  right?  " 

"  Why— yes;  much  obliged,"  replied  Terry.  "  Will 
you?"  " 

General  Jackson  tucked  the  claws  away  in  a  pouch 
that  he  wore.  He  turned  and  went  back  to  his  pony, 
and  untied  from  it  a  large,  bulky  package  that  looked 
like  deer  hide.  This  he  handed  to  Terry. 

"  Meat,"  he  said.  "  Mebbe  you  eat  'um.  You 
mudder,  mebbe  she  eat  'um.  You  f adder,  mebbe  he  eat 
'um.  Good;  'um  deer." 

"  Is  that  for  us?  "  exclaimed  Terry.  "  Thanks  ever 
so  much.  You  kill  it?" 

"  Um,"  noddecl  General  Jackson.  "  Send  'um,  my 
mudder.  Cure  'um  eyes,  your  mudder.  Swap.  Heap 
glad." 

"  Look  at  this,  ma,"  cried  Terry,  to  his  mother  who 
had  appeared  in  the  doorway.  "  Deer  meat — a  lot  of 
it,"  for  wrapped  in  its  hide  was  almost  half  a  deer. 
"  General  Jackson  brought  it.  We'll  have  some  for 
breakfast." 

"  That's  very  kind  of  him,  I'm  sure,"  she  responded, 
warmly ;  and  she  smiled  greeting  to  the  two  Delawares. 
"  Have  them  wait  a  minute."  In  she  whisked,  to  re- 
appear with  the  coffee-pot  and  two  tin  cups. 


96  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

"  Put  in  plenty  of  sugar,"  warned  Terry,  wisely. 

"  I  did,"  she  informed. 

General  Jackson  and  Black  Beaver  were  nothing 
loth  to  accept  the  coffee,  and  drank  each  two  brimming 
cups  of  it,  heavily  sugared. 

"  Go,  now,"  quoth  General  Jackson.  "  Come  again. 
G'bye." 

He  and  Black  Beaver  gravely  shook  hands  with 
Terry  and  his  mother,  and  turned  to  the  ponies. 

"  You  know  my  father  ?  "  Terry  asked,  of  General 
Jackson,  out  of  sudden  thought.  "  He's  gone ;  lost ; 
fell  in  creek,  off  of  pony.  If  you  see  him,  let  us 
know." 

"  Mebbe  so  see  'um,"  grunted  General  Jackson. 
"  Come  again,  soon.  Take  white  boy  on  big  hunt. 
White  boy  heap  hunter.  G'bye,"  and  evidently  with 
high  respect  for  a  boy  who  had  killed  a  panther,  he  and 
Black  Beaver  loped  away. 

"  We've  got  meat  enough  for  a  week,  now,  ma," 
announced  Terry,  in  high  feather.  "  General  Jackson 
rode  over  on  purpose  to  give  it  to  us,  because  you  cured 
his  mother's  eyes.  And  they  helped  me  skin  the 
panther,  and  I'm  going  to  tack  the  skin  up  for  other 
panthers  to  see  and  take  notice.  There'll  be  this 
panther's  husband  around,  they  say.  But  the  fur's  no 
good  this  time  of  year.  It's  all  loose.  General  Jackson 
says  I  ought  to  wear  the  claws  for  a  necklace;  he's 
taken  them  with  him,  to  string  'em.  I  guess  those 
Delawares'll  be  friends  of  ours." 

"  We'll  hang  the  meat  in  the  shade,  after  I've  cut 
some  off  for  breakfast,"  answered  his  mother.  "  I'll 


HARD  WORK  AHEAD  97 

have  to  make  another  pot  of  coffee.    You  can  be  wash- 
ing.   You're  a  perfect  sight.    How's  the  turkey  ?  " 

"  Haven't  had  time  to  look  at  him  yet.  Want  to 
tack  this  skin  up,  first,  to  dry.  Then  I'll  wash  and  then 
I'll  look  at  the  gobbler." 

Terry  had  just  time  enough  to  tack  the  skin,  inside 
out,  against  the  logs  of  the  cabin,  and  to  wash  his 
hands,  before  the  coffee  and  breakfast  were  ready. 
The  venison  had  been  sizzling  for  five  minutes.  It 
tasted  even  better  than  it  smelled.  Tender  ?  Um-m-m ! 
And  sweet  ?  Um-m-m !  Hurrah  for  General  Jackson ! 

"  As  soon  as  I  get  time  I'm  going  out  and  find  deer 
for  ourselves,"  proclaimed  Terry.  "  There'll  be  some 
around,  now  I've  killed  that  panther." 

"First  you'll  finish  that  garden,  won't  you?" 
laughed  his  mother.  "  The  garden's  important.  And 
you  know  we  must  get  our  ranch  in  shape,  before 
winter.  There's  lots  to  be  done — oh,  lots  and  lots." 

"  That's  so,"  admitted  Terry,  soberly.  Things  didn't 
look  very  favorable  for  hunting  and  other  fun ;  not  to  a 
boy  who  had  to  do  the  work  of  a  man.  "  Anyway,"  he 
added,  "  maybe  I  can  go  on  a  big  hunt  with  the  Dela- 
wares,  sometime;  just  once.  They  want  to  take  me." 

"  I  hope  so,"  agreed  his  mother.  "  Now  let's  look 
at  the  turkey,  and  then  you  do  your  chores  and  I'll 
do  mine,  and  after  that  you  can  finish  the  garden." 

"Do  you  think  dad'll  turn  up  to-day?"  ventured 
Terry. 

"  Perhaps,"  and  when  he  saw  his  mother's  eyes,  fill 
he  wished  that  he  hadn't  spoken  so.  But  she  smiled 
again,  and  kissed  him.  "  If  he  doesn't  he  may  come  to- 


98  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

morrow,  or  next  day;  and  we'll  work  right  ahead,  so  as 
to  make  a  big  showing  when  he  does  come." 

There  was  good  news  from  the  gobbler.  He  was 
on  his  feet,  and  had  eaten  some  corn.  His  neck  was 
still  crooked,  but  it  had  begun  to  heal,  and  probably  his 
wing  was  healing,  too.  At  any  rate,  he  was  much  more 
lively,  and  was  better  than  a  dozen  dead  turkeys.  How- 
ever, he  didn't  like  to  be  looked  in  at ;  he  cowered  and 
pressed  to  the  back  side  of  the  coop,  for  he  still  was 
wild.  So  they  closed  him  in  again,  and  left  him  alone. 

"  I  really  think  he's  going  to  get  well,"  declared 
Terry's  mother.  "  What'll  we  do  with  him?  " 

"  Keep  him,  and  I'll  catch  a  hen  turkey  in  a  trap 
and  we'll  raise  young  ones,"  proposed  Terry,  gleefully. 
"  I'll  make  a  pen  for  him." 

Terry  did  his  chores.  He  buried  the  panther  carcass. 
Then  came  the  garden ;  oh,  what  a  job,  just  as  yester- 
day !  He  had  finished  plowing,  and  was  attaching  the 
oxen  to  the  harrow,  so  as  to  rake  off  the  brush  and 
clods,  when  who  should  come  galloping  up  but  Mr. 
Stanton  and  George.  This  gave  him  a  chance  to  stand 
and  ease  his  aching  back. 

"  You  can't  harrow  that,  my  boy,"  at  once  exclaimed 
Mr.  Stanton.  "  Your  harrow  teeth  will  get  all  clogged. 
What  you  want  is  a  drag.  Have  you  heard  from  your 
father?" 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Terry.    "  Have  you?  " 

"  Not  a  sign,  I'm  sorry  to  say.  But  he's  somewhere. 
I  feel  certain  of  that.  Don't  give  him  up.  Good- 
morning,  Mrs.  Richards.  We're  ridden  over  on  a 
neighborly  call,  is  all." 


HARD  WORK  AHEAD  99 

"  Oh,  pop !  Look  at  the  big  panther  skin !  "  cried 
George.  "Cracky!  Who  got  him,  Terry?  You?" 

"  Terry's  the  one,"  affirmed  Terry's  mother.  And 
Terry  could  see  that  she  was  as  proud  as  he.  "  He  did 
it  all  alone." 

"  That  is  a  big  one,"  appraised  Mr.  Stanton.  "  I 
vow!  And  that's  the  rattler,  too,  is  it?  Good  for 
Terry !  Where'd  you  get  the  panther,  Terry  ?  " 

"  Did  you  shoot  him  yourself  ?  "  demanded  George, 
eagerly. 

Terry  had  to  tell  all  about  it,  again ;  and  at  mention 
of  the  Dela wares  and  the  necklace  and  the  venison 
George  was  roundly  envious. 

"  Shucks !  And  I've  done  nothing  but  help  build 
our  house,"  he  complained.  "  Wish  a  panther  would 
come  on  our  land." 

"  I  don't,"  asserted  his  father.  "  We  aren't  looking 
for  panthers.  Now,"  he  added,  to  Terry,  "  if  we  can 
find  a  rail  I'll  show  you  how  to  polish  off  that  garden 
patch  in  short  order.  Got  any  spikes  ?  " 

"  Not  many,"  confessed  Terry,  ruefully.  "  Dad 
didn't  bring  many  nails.  Suppose  I'll  have  to  buy 
some." 

Even  in  1858  nails  were  not  very  common  in  the 
west  of  the  United  States.  Wooden  pins  were  used 
for  fastening  rafters  and  large  boards.  This  cabin 
erected  by  Terry's  father  had  scarcely  a  nail  in  it.  But 
in  the  emigrant  outfit  Mr.  Richards  had  included  a 
handful  of  rough,  hand-made  spikes,  and  Terry  ran  to 
get  them. 

"  Those  will  do,"  nodded  Mr.  Stanton.    "  Now  for 


ioo  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

the  rail.  As  soon  as  we  get  our  fences  up  there'll  be 
plenty  of  rails." 

A  rough-sawed  plank  ten  feet  long,  two  inches  thick 
and  eight  or  ten  inches  wide  had  been  laid  over  the 
eaves  of  the  shed,  as  if  to  hold  the  sod  in  place.  They 
took  this  down,  drove  the  spikes  into  the  flat  of  it, 
until  the  heads  projected  about  eight  inches,  in  a  row. 
The  ox-chain  and  a  rope  were  run  from  either  end  of 
the  plank,  to  the  yoke  of  Buck  and  Spot ;  and  standing 
on  the  middle  of  the  plank,  to  hold  it  down,  Mr.  Stanton 
rode  the  length  of  the  garden  patch,  dragging  a  space 
as  wide  as  the  plank  was  long.  The  spikes  were  under- 
most ;  and  caught  the  brush  and  weeds  in  great  style. 

Having  witnessed,  Terry  mounted.  The  plank  of 
course  bucked  and  jumped,  and  to  ride  it  required  quite 
a  knack.  The  gathered  brush  piled  up  in  front  in  a 
windrow,  and  when  it  was  about  to  force  him  from  his 
foothold,  he  had  to  stop  and  clear  it  away  by  armfuls. 
But  the  job  of  riding  was  about  as  much  fun  (he  im- 
agined) as  riding  a  boat  through  the  breakers. 

George  cheered  and  whooped  and  was  especially  de- 
lighted when  Terry  fell  off.  Mr.  Stanton  keenly 
watched. 

"  I've  a  proposition  to  make  to  you,  Terry,"  he  said, 
as  Terry  was  turning  the  oxen  again.  "  When  you  get 
your  garden  in,  and  your  mother  can  spare  you  for  a 
bit,  fetch  your  span  down  to  our  place.  A  smart  boy 
and  a  yoke  of  oxen  are  worth  money  in  this  country. 
I'll  give  you  a  dollar  a  day  for  you  and  your  yoke,  to 
help  us  clear  our  land ;  and  to  make  things  even  George 
and  I'll  help  you  clear  yours.  You  can't  break  sod 


HARD  WORK  AHEAD  101 

and  put  up  fences  alone.  Will  you  swap  labor — with 
a  dollar  a  day  to  boot?  " 

"  I  will  if  ma'll  let  me,"  gasped  Terry,  overjoyed. 
"  Maybe  I'll  come  to-morrow." 

"  All  right.  That's  a  bargain,"  spoke  Mr.  Stanton. 
"  Let's  go  home,  George." 

"  Be  sure  and  come,"  called  back  George,  as  they 
cantered  away. 

Terry  went  on  with  his  dragging.  As  he  gaily  rode 
the  plank,  he  felt  that  he  and  his  mother  were  going 
to  manage  very  nicely. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE   BROTHERHOOD  OF  THE  SNAKE 

TERRY  finished  the  garden  by  the  middle  of  the 
afternoon.  He  planted  it  to  potatoes  (one  eye  to  a 
nill,  for  potatoes  were  valuable),  sweet  corn  for  the 
table  and  yellow  corn  for  meal,  beets,  turnips,  carrots, 
squash,  pumpkin,  beans,  and  peas.  His  mother  was 
rather  doubtful  as  to  the  peas,  because  they  were  put 
in  so  late;  by  the  rich  appearance  of  the  ground  the 
other  things  ought  to  do  finely.  It  was  a  large  garden ; 
it  looked  almost  too  large  for  one  small  family:  but 
what  they  didn't  use  when  ripe  they  could  store  away. 
Winter  was  coming,  some  day.  They  must  prepare 
for  it,  like  the  squirrels  did. 

He  even  had  time  to  figure  on  the  spring  house,  but 
before  he  had  begun  actual  work  on  it,  his  evening 
chores  called  him.  Those  ranch  days  seemed  all  too 
short,  when  there  was  everything  to  do,  and  little  to  do 
with. 

"  You  aren't  afraid  to  stay  alone,  are  you,  ma  ?  " 
he  asked,  in  the  morning,  when  he  was  about  to  start 
for  the  Stanton  place. 

"  You  can  leave  me  Shep,"  she  said.  "  I  won't  be 
afraid  with  him." 

Shep  would  have  preferred  going  to  staying;  but  at 
102 


THE  BROTHERHOOD  OF  THE  SNAKE  103 

his  master's  "  Go  back,  Shep !  You  stay,"  stay  he  did 
— his  ears  pricked  while  he  watched  Terry  trudge 
away,  driving  Buck  and  Spot  yoked  together. 

Terry  felt  rather  important.  Here  he  was,  hired 
out  with  self  and  team,  already,  like  any  man,  to  join 
with  other  men  in  the  settlement  of  the  country.  If,  as 
George's  father  had  said,  an  ox-team  and  a  boy  were 
worth  money  in  Kansas,  perhaps  he  could  earn  a  whole 
lot. 

The  oxen  plodded  slowly,  dragging  their  chain.  The 
Stanton  place  proved  not  difficult  to  find.  In  about  half 
an  hour  he  crossed  the  little  divide,  and  on  the  other 
side  he  saw  the  new  cabin,  which  must  be  the  Stanton 
cabin,  for  no  other  cabin  was  in  sight.  Yes,  the 
Stanton  place  this  was ;  as  now  he  approached,  George 
waved  at  him,  little  Virgie  flourished  her  sunbonnet, 
and  Mrs.  Stanton  appeared  in  the  doorway. 

The  Stantons  had  achieved  much  in  a  short  time. 
Their  cabin  was  of  rough-sawed  new  boards,  instead 
of  logs,  with  a  board  roof  also ;  and  their  out-buildings 
were  of  boards.  Mr.  Stanton  had  hired  the  hauling 
done,  from  Fort  Riley,  south,  where  the  lumber  and  all 
had  been  delivered  from  Fort  Leavenworth,  far  to  the 
northeast,  by  the  big  freighting  firm  of  Russell,  Majors 
&  Waddell.  Everything  had  been  cut  to  measure  at  the 
mill.  According  to  George,  a  house  complete  with 
doors  and  windows  could  be  shipped  by  boat  and  ox- 
teams  clear  from  St.  Louis  to  central  Kansas,  and  set 
up  in  a  day,  like  putting  together  a  puzzle.  But  saw- 
mills were  being  rapidly  established  in  Kansas — there 
was  one  at  Fort  Riley  and  a  new  one  at  Manhattan; 


io4  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

so  that  even  here  on  the  Kansas  frontier  lumber  could 
be  procured. 

"  Hello,  Terry/'  greeted  Mr.  Stanton,  coming  from 
a  shed.  "  Ready  for  business?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Well,  I've  got  some  carpentering  to  do,  and  I'll 
set  you  and  George  at  plowing  those  bottom  acres. 
The  ground's  soft,  there,  and  the  two  yoke  can  pull 
through  without  trouble.  But  it  will  take  the  both  of 
you  to  hold  the  plow." 

The  plow  was  a  much  larger  one  then  Terry's,  with 
a  twenty-four-inch  blade  instead  of  a  twelve-inch,  and 
iron  mold-boards  instead  of  wooden  ones.  The  plow 
blade  (which  is  fastened  to  the  mold  boards)  was  of 
cast  iron  tipped  with  steel. 

Ned  and  Bonny  were  put  in  as  the  first,  for  the  pole 
yoke;  and  Buck  and  Spot  were  hooked  in  front  of 
them,  as  the  lead  yoke.  George's  father  was  a  practical 
farmer.  In  Indiana  he  had  broken  the  land,  about  as 
he  was  to  break  the  land  in  Kansas. 

The  bottom-land,  green  and  level,  with  grass  to  one's 
knees,  was  ideal  for  corn,  said  Mr.  Stanton. 

"  I've  set  up  a  stake  yonder,"  he  directed,  pointing. 
"  That's  your  guide,  for  the  first  furrow,  so  you'll 
plow  reasonably  straight.  This  is  your  corner,  to  start 
from.  Only  one  of  you  can  do  the  driving,  but  it'll 
need  the  two  of  you  to  hold  the  plow.  Get  your  first 
furrow  straight,  and  lay  the  others  by  that.  George 
knows." 

"  All  right,"  sung  George.  "  Terry'll  drive ;  his  yoke 
are  the  lead.  Come  on,  Terry." 


THE  BROTHERHOOD  OF  THE  SNAKE  105 

Terry  swung  the  two  yoke  into  position,  and  he  and 
George  turned  the  plow  over  for  business.  Away  they 
gallantly  went,  aiming  for  the  stake ;  and  the  thick  sod 
"  popped  "  as  the  heavy  blade  ripped  through.  The 
sod  here  was  tougher  than  at  the  garden  patch;  every 
now  and  then  a  mass  of  roots  almost  stopped  the  plow, 
jerking  the  two  boys  forward  and  throwing  them  back 
again. 

"  Hold  hard,"  encouraged  George. 

"Hold  hard/'  repeated  Terry.  "Buck!  Haw! 
Haw,  Buck!  Spot!" 

Steering  the  plow  like  a  ship  in  a  powerful  sea  they 
were  tugged  along,  leaving  behind  them  a  wide  black 
wake.  By  the  time  that  they  arrived  at  the  stake,  they 
were  dripping  with  sweat  and  the  four  oxen  were 
steaming. 

"  Pshaw ! "  exclaimed  Terry,  ruefully,  as  they 
paused,  at  the  stake,  and  looked  back.  "  That's  no 
shakes  of  a  furrow.  I  thought  we  were  aiming 
straight;  didn't  you?  " 

"  Crooked  as  a  snake  track,  isn't  it ! "  admitted 
George.  "  Now  dad'll  laugh.  But  it's  no  easy  job  to 
hold  this  plow,"  and  he  wagged  his  head.  "  I've  helped 
plow  in  Indiana ;  never  had  to  wrestle  like  this,  though." 

"  We'll  keep  going,  anyway,"  quoth  Terry.  "  Let's 
turn  'round." 

They  turned  the  oxen  and  the  plow,  and  started 
again,  determined  to  make  this  a  straight  furrow.  But 
midway  Terry  gave  a  sudden  jump  and  yelp;  and  yelp- 
ing likewise  George  jumped  in  the  opposite  direction. 
The  oxea  stopped.  As  for  the  snake — and  a  snake  it 


io6  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

was — untwisting  where  he  had  been  thrown  up  by  the 
plow  he  made  off  at  a  furious  pace,  George  after  him. 
George  returned  breathless. 

"  Couldn't  catch  him,"  he  reported.  "  He's  a  blue 
racer.  Those  blue  racers  can  beat  a  horse." 

"  Thought  he  was  a  bull-snake,"  proffered  Terry. 

"  No ;  he  was  long  and  slim,  and  a  bull-snake's  thick 
with  a  big  head." 

"  We'd  better  watch  out  for  rattlers,"  observed 
Terry.  "  I'd  hate  to  get  one  in  my  boot." 

"  I  should  say !  "  agreed  George.  And  he  shouted,  to 
Virgie,  who  was  trudging  down  to  them,  from  the 
cabin — some  of  the  time  through  grass  and  flowers  up 
to  her  yellow  sunbonnet :  "  You  stay  there !  Go  back ! 
Too  many  snakes !  " 

Virgie  stopped,  alarmed,  and  scuttled  hastily  for  the 
cabin  yard  again. 

Snakes!  Why,  this  green  bottom-land  seemed  to 
grow  more  snakes  than  anything  else !  What  a  lot  of 
snakes  Kansas  appeared  to  have!  Scarcely  a  furrow 
that  did  not  disturb  one  kind  or  another,  of  snake :  the 
blue  racers,  sheeny  and  beautiful,  and  as  lithe  and  swift 
as  a  whip-lash;  thick  bodied,  brown  bull-snakes,  five 
and  six  feet  long,  with  blunt,  large  heads  which  hissed 
harmlessly;  striped  garter  snakes;  and  what  George, 
who  was  posted  on  snakes,  claimed  was  a  glass  snake. 
The  merest  touch  broke  it  into  pieces,  and  the  pieces 
wriggled  away  and  hid.  George  asserted  that  the  head 
found  the  body,  again,  and  stuck  itself  on;  and  then 
the  head  and  body  found  the  tail,  and  stuck  that  on; 
and  the  snake  was  a  good  as  before ! 


THE  BROTHERHOOD  OF  THE  SNAKE  107 

As  for  rattlers — whew!  In  the  bottom  there  were 
occasional  patches  of  jungle,  where  the  grasses  grew 
four  feet  high,  and  the  sun-flowers  towered  above  the 
backs  of  the  oxen.  These  jungles  were  famous  places 
for  snakes,  and  particularly  for  rattlers.  The  oxen 
learned  to  stop  and  snort  when  they  perceived  a  rattle- 
snake; sometimes  the  snake  rattled  and  sometimes  it 
didn't,  but  shot  away,  and  escaped.  When  it  coiled 
and  stood  its  ground,  Terry  or  George,  swinging  from 
a  respectful  distance,  stunned  it  with  the  butt  of  the 
whip-stock  and  then  finished  it.  That  was  safe  work, 
for  as  everybody  knew,  a  rattle-snake  can  strike  only 
about  half  its  length,  from  its  coil. 

"  We  ought  to  turn  hogs  in  here,"  spoke  George. 
"  They'd  clean  out  the  snakes. " 

"  But  they'd  get  bit  and  die,"  objected  Terry. 

"  No,  siree !  The  hog  lets  the  snake  strike  him  on 
the  cheek,  where  there's  nothing  but  hard  gristle.  Then 
he  steps  all  over  the  snake  and  cuts  him  up  and  eats 
him." 

The  furrows  were  now  as  straight  and  true  as  any- 
body could  desire.  The  black  swathes  of  upturned 
earth  lay  like  broad  strips  of  carpeting  unrolled 
bunchily ;  and  from  the  damp  soil  rose  an  earthy  smell 
not  at  all  unpleasant.  Terry  and  George  were  coated 
to  their  boot-tops  with  the  sticky  dirt ;  the  oxen  were 
heaving,  but  still  stanch. 

Every  four  or  five  furrows  they  all  stopped,  to 
sharpen  the  nose  of  the  plow  with  a  coarse  file.  The 
tough  roots  fought  a  continual  battle  against  the  tough 


io8  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

steel.  It  was  amazing  what  a  difference  there  was  be- 
tween a  sharp  plow  and  a  dull  plow. 

They  had  halted  beside  a  bunch  of  tall  flowering 
weeds  and  coarse  grasses,  and  Terry  was  using  the  file 
on  the  plow  nose,  when  it  slipped  and  flew  out  of  his 
hand  into  the  weeds. 

"  Huh !  "  complained  Terry,  and  reached  in  after  it. 
This  was  a  careless  thing  to  do,  but  he  was  in  a  hurry. 
Suddenly,  as  he  reached,  the  sharp  whirr  of  a  rattler 
sounded  right  under  his  no» 

"  Look  out !  "  ordered  George ;  and  surprised,  Terry 
gave  a  great  leap  backward.  Even  as  he  landed  he 
heard  another  short  whirr — some  soft  object  squirmed 
under  his  feet,  and  as  he  desperately  sprang  again,  he 
felt  a  hard  thump  on  his  bootleg,  followed  by  a  prick- 
ing pain. 

"  I'm  hit !  "  he  cried.  "  He  struck  me,  George !  Oh, 
jiminy! " 

A  weight  seemed  to  be  attached  to  his  leg ;  and  gaz- 
ing down  behind  as  he  took  another  hasty  step  he  wit- 
nessed a  long  squirming  object  following  his  movement 
into  the  nearest  furrow.  He  was  dragging  the  snake 
with  him — its  fangs  fast  in  his  bootleg.  The  sight 
made  him  weak.  But  George  was  to  the  rescue  in  a 
jiffy,  with  the  whip. 

"  He's  caught !  Stand  still  just  a  second — "  for 
Terry's  impulse  was  to  run,  and  run,  and  run,  and  kick 
the  snake  off.  But  he  held  himself  in.  Down  like 
lightning  came  the  whip  stock,  with  all  George's 
strength — it  thudded  home  so  stoutly  that  it  not  only 


THE  BROTHERHOOD  OF  THE  SNAKE  109 

mashed  flat  the  brown  back  behind  the  ugly  head  but 
tore  the  fangs  loose.  And  the  snake  lay  quivering. 

"Did  he  bite  through?"  demanded  George,  pant- 
ing. "Sit  down,  quick !  Gimme  your  boot.  Let's 
see." 

"  Felt  as  though  he  did,"  quavered  Terry,  sinking 
into  the  furrow  and  tugging  weakly  at  his  boot.  But 
George  grabbed  the  boot  from  his  hands,  and  hauled. 
Off  it  came.  He  rolled  up  the  trousers  leg — Terry  try- 
ing to  help — and  stripped  down  the  stocking.  On  the 
white  skin  over  the  shin-bone  between  knee  and  instep 
were  two  tiny  red  punctures ;  a  pair  of  them,  about  an 
inch  apart. 

Terry  gasped,  frightened.  George,  however,  was  all 
business. 

"  Don't  believe  any  poison  got  through,"  he  asserted. 
"The  skin's  hardly  broken.  See?  But  I  think  we 
ought  to  widen  up  that  place  so  it'll  bleed.  That'll  wash 
it  out.  I'll  do  it  now,  quick." 

He  fished  his  knife  from  his  trousers  pocket,  and 
opened  the  small  blade. 

"  Hold  steady,"  he  bade.  "  You  don't  mind  a  little 
bit  of  pain,  do  you  ?  " 

"  No.  Go  ahead,"  directed  Terry,  recovering  his 
nerve. 

George  gave  a  brief  series  of  swift,  hard  prods  with 
the  knife  point.  Terry  drew  keen  breath  as  he  felt  the 
point  dig  and  tear  the  flesh.  The  knife  was  not  so  very 
sharp — but  not  for  the  world  would  he  have  winced  or 
complained;  and  after  all,  it  was  soon  over.  George 
squeezed  the  wound ;  and  before  Terry  could  stop  him 


no  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

he  had  put  his  mouth  on  it  and  sucked  hard  several 
times  and  spat. 

"  Here !  "  objected  Terry.    "  What  you  doing  ?  " 

"  Sucking  the  poison  out,  if  there  was  any.  Don't 
believe  there  was,  though,"  retorted  George.  "  He 
had  to  bite  through  your  boot  and  pants  and  stocking; 
and  then  he  hit  right  on  the  bone  where  you  haven't  got 
much  meat  or  blood.  Poison  does  no  harm  if  it  doesn't 
get  into  the  circulation.  I've  seen  lots  of  rattlers  in 
Indiana.  We  always  cut  and  suck  the  wound,  to  wash 
it  out.  People  yonder  stick  a  hunk  of  tobacco  on  it, 
too ;  but  we  haven't  any  tobacco.  So  we'll  tie  it  up  in 
mud.  How  you  feeling?  " 

"  All  right,"  bravely  asserted  Terry.  "  I  don't  be- 
lieve I'm  hurt  much." 

"Of  course  you  aren't,"  assured  George — a  very 
comforting  sort  of  a  partner  as  now  he  industriously 
gathered  a  handful  of  soft  moist  earth,  clapped  it  on 
the  wound,  and  proceeded  to  tie  his  bandanna  handker- 
chief around,  over  the  plaster.  "  We've  played  safe, 
anyhow.  We  didn't  even  wait  to  go  to  the  house.  The 
quicker  you  get  after  such  things,  the  better.  Want  to 
put  on  your  boot?  It'll  be  all  right." 

"  Sure,"  agreed  Terry.  He  carefully  folded  his 
trouser  leg  and  hauled  his  boot  on,  and  scrambled  up ; 
stood  a  moment  a  little  unsteadily,  with  George  watch- 
ing him ;  wriggled  his  wounded  leg,  and  laughed.  Then 
he  sobered. 

"  Shake,  George,"  he  invited,  extending  his  hand. 
"  Maybe  you  saved  my  life.  I  guess  we're  brothers 


now." 


THE  BROTHERHOOD  OF  THE  SNAKE  in 

"  Aw — !  "  bluffed  George,  flushing,  but  shaking 
hands.  "  I  didn't  save  anybody's  life.  You  weren't 
struck  bad.  You'd  have  been  all  right.  Most  of  the 
poison  stayed  on  the  outside  of  your  boot— see  the 
wet  spot?  But  I'll  be  glad  to  be  your  brother." 

"  I  was  mighty  scared,  for  a  few  minutes ;  'specially 
when  I  saw  what  I  was  dragging  'round,"  confessed 
Terry.  "  I  suppose  I'd  have  been  running  yet,  till  I  fell 
over." 

"  That's  about  the  worst  thing  a  fellow  can  do," 
accused  George.  "  He  ought  to  keep  cool  and  keep  his 
blood  cool.  But  I  wouldn't  have  blamed  you.  To  drag 
a  thing  like  that,  by  your  boot,  is  no  joke.  Cracky, 
he's  a  big  one,  isn't  he !  " 

They  scanned  the  dead  snake — as  large  a  rattler  as 
that  killed  by  Terry  in  the  cabin.  He  had  the  same 
number  of  rattles,  too:  thirteen  and  a  button.  Terry 
fished  out  his  own  knife,  and  boldly  hacked  the  rattles 
off. 

"  Here,"  he  said,  holding  them  out  to  George.  "  You 
keep  these,  and  I'll  keep  the  set  from  my  snake,  at  the 
cabin.  We'll  carry  'em  in  our  pockets.  And  whenever 
we  want  help  from  each  other,  or  something  like  that, 
we'll  signal." 

"  Good !  "  exclaimed  George.  "  Or  we  can  hang  'em 
round  our  necks,  and  wear  'em  in  swimming  and  to  bed 
and  every  place !  Shake  again,  on  the  Brotherhood  of 
the  Rattlesnake.  Allee  same  Injun — huh  ?  " 

They  gripped  brown  strong  hands,  and  shook. 

"  Now  I'd  better  look  for  that  file,"  proposed  Terry. 
He  picked  up  the  whip  and  limping  a  little  as  he  walked, 


H2  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

rather  gingerly  poked  into  the  weed  patch  where  he  had 
flipped  the  file. 

"  Watch  out,  now !  "  warned  George.  "  That  may 
be  this  snake's  wife  or  husband  in  there." 

But  whichever  the  first  snake  might  have  been,  it 
had  made  off  during  the  fracas ;  and  reaching  in,  Terry 
drew  the  file  to  him  and  picked  it  up. 

"  How  you  feeling  now  ?  "  queried  George. 

"  All  right,"  insisted  Terry.  And  when  they  re- 
sumed their  plowing  he  continued  to  feel  all  right,  save 
for  the  slight  smarting  where  George  had  prodded  with 
the  knife. 


CHAPTER  IX 

TWO  AMAZING  ENCOUNTERS 

TWELVE  acres  were  ploughed  for  corn  at  the  Stanton 
ranch;  and  then,  aided  by  George,  Terry  ploughed 
twelve  acres  at  his  own  and  his  mother's  ranch.  The 
corn  was  planted — and  this  was  a  tedious  job,  done  by 
hand.  One  of  them,  either  George  or  Terry,  walked 
ahead,  down  each  furrow,  a  sack  of  corn  slung  from 
his  shoulder.  Every  two  short  steps,  about,  he  dropped 
four  kernels  of  corn;  and  following  close  with  a  hoe 
his  partner  covered  the  kernels. 

This  took  time,  but  anyway,  at  last  the  corn  was  in. 

Meanwhile,  other  work  pressed.  It  seemed  to  Terry 
that  everything  needed  him,  at  once.  How  rapidly  the 
seeds  that  he  put  in  did  grow !  The  garden  stuff  fairly 
leaped  out  of  the  ground,  and  so  did  the  weeds!  Al- 
ready his  fingers  had  worn  the  hoe-handle  smooth, 
where  he  gripped  it,  and  there  were  callouses,  he  de- 
clared, an  inch  thick,  on  his  palms.  Within  a  week 
after  the  planting,  the  corn  field  showed  long  lines  of 
light  green,  from  the  sprouting  kernels;  and  Mr. 
Stanton  told  him  that  he  soon  must  plough  again  and 
cross  plough,  to  keep  the  weeds  down  and  the  soil 
stirred  up.  His  mother  also  was  busy.  They  both  rose 
at  dawn,  had  breakfast  by  half -past  five,  and  were  on 


114  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

the  go  until  dark.     And  even  after  dark  his  mother 
stitched  and  mended  by  the  light  of  a  candle. 

The  spring-house  was  yet  to  be  built,  and  the  dug-out 
cellar  improved,  and  fences  to  be  erected,  and  another 
supply  of  wood  to  be  hauled,  and  the  colt  was  getting 
wild  and  ought  to  be  broken,  and  the  chickens  were 
wandering  wide  and  laying  eggs  that  never  were  found, 
and  supplies  were  getting  low,  demanding  a  trip  to 
town,  and,  oh,  dear !  The  ranch  was  a  problem.  Not 
a  word  or  sign  had  come  from  Mr.  Richards,  who  was 
so  sorely  missed. 

But  the  ranch  certainly  had  improved,  and  these 
busy  days  were  not  unpleasant  days.  There  was  the 
corn-field,  and  there  was  the  garden  patch.  The 
prairie  grasses  of  the  hay  field  were  high  and  nodding, 
and  waved  in  green  billows  as  the  daily  wind  swept 
across.  Mr.  Stanton  estimated  that  at  least  200  tons 
of  hay  were  in  sight — and  Terry  wondered  how  he  was 
going  to  cut  it  and  what  he  was  going  to  do  with  it. 
The  hens  were  laying  well — they  supplied  far  more 
eggs  than  could  be  eaten  by  two  people;  and  besides, 
they  were  begining  to  rear  broods.  The  big  turkey 
had  fully  recovered  from  his  wounds,  except  that  he 
could  not  use  his  wing,  and  that  he  had  a  curious  twist 
to  his  neck.  He  showed  no  inclination  to  return  to  the 
timber;  on  the  contrary,  he  had  become  very  tame — 
and  likewise  the  boss  of  the  yard.  He  occasionally 
entered  the  cabin,  seeking  tidbits ;  and  outside  he  drove 
the  rooster  about  as  he  pleased,  and  held  the  upper  hand 
of  even  Shep.  Terry  named  him  Pete,  and  had  taught 
him  to  come  running  at  a  peculiar  little  whistle. 


TWO  AMAZING  ENCOUNTERS 

Every  morning  the  sun  rose  round  and  red,  in  a 
crimson  east;  shone  all  day,  save  when  now  and  then 
a  thunder-storm  rolled  up  out  of  the  north  or  west; 
and  every  evening  he  sank  gorgeously,  leaving  a  long, 
peaceful  twilight  or  afterglow  of  pink  and  gold.  The 
hayfield,  and  the  creek  banks,  and  even  the  timber,  were 
brilliant  with  wild-flowers — pink  and  white  and  blue 
and  yellow  and  red :  thousands  of  them,  in  masses  and 
ribbons,  with  the  great  sun-flowers  towering  highest, 
eight  and  ten  feet  tall.  The  very  cabin  roof  was  a 
flower-garden,  in  the  midst  of  which  a  bunch  of  sun- 
flowers stood  waving  and  bending,  like  a  signal.  When 
he  returned  homeward  from  work,  Terry  was  always 
glad  to  see  those  sunflowers  nodding  at  him,  and  his 
mother  usually  standing  in  the  doorway  under  them, 
watching  for  him. 

"  Terry,  boy,"  she  said,  suddenly,  one  night,  "  I 
think  you'll  have  to  go  down  to  Manhattan  or  Fort 
Riley  and  get  us  some  things  we  need." 

"What,  ma?" 

"  We're  about  out  of  flour,  and  bacon,  and  sugar, 
and  soap,  and  potatoes,  and,  oh,  lots  of  things.  If  your 
father  could  have  been  here,  he  might  have  managed 
different.  I'm  sure  our  timber  is  worth  selling.  He 
counted  on  selling  wood  and  rails  to  the  fort.  But 
we'll  have  to  take  what  money  you've  earned  and  what 
more  we  can  spare,  to  spell  us  along  till  our  garden's 
bearing  and  our  hay  and  corn  are  ready.  I  wish  we 
had  a  cow ;  then  I  could  make  butter." 

"The  Stantons  give  us  milk,  anyway,"  reminded 
Terry. 


Ii6  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

For  the  Stantons  had  a  cow,  and  every  other  day 
Terry  rode  over  for  a  bucket  of  milk. 

"  Yes,  I  know."  And  his  mother  sighed.  "  Maybe 
some  day  we  can  have  a  cow,  too.  Mrs.  Stanton  says 
the  people  at  Manhattan  and  the  fort  pay  good  prices 
for  butter ;  and  you  can  always  trade  butter  and  cheese 
at  the  stores.  Well,  I  think  that  to-morrow  you'd  bet- 
ter take  what  money  we  have  to  spend,  and  go  into 
town.  You  can  start  early,  and  get  back  the  next  day, 
can't  you? " 

"  You  won't  be  afraid  to  stay  alone  ?  "  queried  Terry, 
anxiously. 

His  mother  laughed. 

"  Of  course  not.    Not  with  Shep  and  Pete." 

"  I'll  leave  you  the  gun,  too,"  proffered  Terry.  "  It's 
loaded." 

"  Don't  you  worry  about  me,"  smiled  his  mother. 
"  Who'll  try  to  harm  us,  in  this  big  country?  But  you 
must  hurry  back,  because  I'll  miss  you." 

Except  for  leaving  his  mother  alone,  willing  indeed 
was  Terry  to  go.  It  meant  a  sort  of  a  vacation  to  him. 
He  planned  to  start  at  sunrise — and  to  do  this  he  rose 
extra  early,  so  as  to  get  the  chores  done.  After  a  hasty 
breakfast  of  flapjacks  (or  griddle-cakes)  and  molasses, 
he  mounted  the  mare,  and  with  a  good-by  wave  to  his 
mother  rode  off.  Shep,  watching  him,  whined;  and 
the  colt,  penned  in  the  corral,  whinnied  shrilly;  but 
they  and  Pete  the  turkey  were  to  form  the  home  guard 
to  protect  his  mother. 

He  had  in  his  pocket  the  ten  dollars  that  he  had 
earned  by  working  for  Mr.  Stanton,  and  nine  dollars 


TWO  AMAZING  ENCOUNTERS         117 

and  a  half  that  his  mother  had  spared  from  the  scanty 
household  fund.  And  he  carried  three  dozen  eggs  to 
be  traded  in.  His  mother  had  supplied  him  with  a  list 
of  things  to  be  bought — all  of  which  were  somehow  to 
be  packed  on  the  mare  and  carried  home. 

It  was  five  hours  by  saddle  to  either  Manhattan  town 
or  the  new  government  post  of  Fort  Riley;  but  that 
was  not  much  of  a  ride  for  a  boy,  and  Terry  loped 
blithely  down  the  broad  valley,  dewy  with  the  morning 
and  sparkling  in  the  beams  of  the  newly  risen  sun.  He 
saw  smoke  wafting  from  the  chimney  of  the  Stanton 
cabin,  in  the  distance,  as  he  passed  by,  climbing  a  little 
swell.  However,  he  had  no  time  to  stop  and  tell  George 
where  he  was  going.  Presently  he  had  left  the  Stanton 
ranch  behind. 

The  Blue  River  was  on  his  left,  marked  by  its  line 
of  timber.  Manhattan  was  almost  due  south,  with  Fort 
Riley  about  eighteen  miles  west  from  it,  up  the  Kansas 
River.  He  and  his  mother  had  decided  that  he  would 
go  to  Riley  first,  and  ask  whether  the  government 
wouldn't  buy  the  hay — for  as  anybody  might  know,  the 
cavalry  horses  would  require  a  lot  of  hay  during  the 
winter.  Perhaps  he  could  arrange  to  sell  the  govern- 
ment some  potatoes  and  other  garden  stuff. 

Then  from  Fort  Riley  he  could  return  by  way  of 
Manhattan  (where  he  would  buy  the  stuff  that  his 
mother  wanted),  and  up  the  Valley  of  the  Blue. 

It  was  fun  to  be  riding  off,  full  of  business,  like 
any  man.  At  trot  and  lope  he  proceeded,  with  the 
prairie  birds  rising  and  fluttering  around  him,  many 
flowers  brushing  his  stirrups,  the  sun  warm  on  his 


n8  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

back,  and  the  breeze  of  plain  and  prairie  blowing  strong 
and  sweet.  At  the  same  time,  he  had  to  be  careful  of 
his  eggs. 

By  the  sun  he  headed  west  of  south,  to  cross  the  high 
rolling  ridge  which  divided  the  Valley  of  the  Blue  from 
the  Valley  of  the  Republican,  at  the  mouth  of  which  lay 
Fort  Riley.  Broad  stretched  the  Valley  of  the  Blue, 
as  he  skirted  it :  a  great  expanse  of  rolling  prairie,  with 
quite  a  number  of  cabins  scattered  upon  it — for  the 
further  south  one  went,  toward  the  Kansas  River  and 
the  emigrant  trail  along  it,  the  more  settlers  there  were. 
Antelope  were  grazing.  Jiminy,  but  they  could  run! 
Yonder  might  be  a  bunch  of  buffalo — or  perhaps  they 
were  cattle.  And  look  at  the  deer — two,  three,  six, 
scampering  off  through  the  brush ! 

But  Terry  was  business  bent,  and  had  no  time  to  fool 
with  small  fry  such  as  buffalo  and  deer — much  less  the 
countless  long-eared,  long-legged  jack-rabbits  that 
jumped  from  under  the  old  mare's  very  hoofs.  He 
could  see  a  low  line  of  mist,  like  a  fog,  far  before,  and 
rather  guessed  that  this  was  the  Kansas  River.  Finally 
he  struck  a  wagon  trail  wending  in  the  direction  of 
Fort  Riley,  and  gladly  turned  upon  this. 

It  forded  a  creek,  and  amidst  sumac  and  black  walnut 
trees,  wild  plums  and  cherries  ascended  the  opposite 
bank.  On  the  mare  Terry  was  emerging  from  the 
timber  and  rounding  the  shoulder  of  a  grassy  rise,  when 
in  a  moment  he  was  face  to  face  with  Thunder  Horse, 
the  small-pox  marked  Kiowa,  a  filthy  blanket  draped 
over  his  shoulders. 

It  was  a  meeting  unexpected  by  Terry,  but  evi- 


TWO  AMAZING  ENCOUNTERS         119 

dently  not  unexpected  by  Thunder  Horse.  The  Kiowa 
probably  had  been  loafing  at  the  side  of  the  trail,  for  he 
appeared  to  have  just  mounted  and  was  sitting  his 
horse,  waiting.  He  instantly  reined  his  horse  across 
the  trail,  and  reaching  to  grasp  the  mare's  bridle, 
grunted : 

"How?" 

His  eyes  were  blood-shot,  his  breath  was  laden  with 
the  foul  odor  of  liquor,  and  altogether  he  was  a  very 
unpleasing  customer.  But  Terry  did  not  propose  to  be 
caught  and  held.  Even  as  the  Kiowa's  grimy  fingers 
touched  the  cheek  strap  of  the  bridle,  Terry  jerked  the 
mare's  head  sharply  aside,  and  reined  her  back. 

"  Here !  What  are  you  trying  to  do  ?  "  he  demanded. 
"Get  out!" 

Thunder  Horse,  his  hand  out-stretched,  a  crafty  grin 
on  his  ugly  face,  pushed  his  pony  forward,  still  intent 
on  the  mare's  bridle. 

"Huh!    No  pass.    Give  whisk'." 

"  Get  out !  "  ordered  Terry.  "  I  haven't  any  whiskey 
— and  I  wouldn't  give  it  to  you  if  I  had." 

"Shoog,"  invited  Thunder  Horse.  "No  whisk*. 
Give  shoog." 

"  Haven't  any  sugar,  either,"  retorted  Terry,  back- 
ing, while  the  mare  snorted.  She  did  not  like  such  an 
Indian,  any  more  than  did  Terry.  "  Get  out  with  you ! 
Puck-a-chee !  " 

The  Kiowa's  face  stiffened,  and  his  reddened  eyes 
narrowed. 

"  No  pass,"  he  repeated.  "  Give  whisk' — shoog — 
tobac.  Then  boy  go." 


120  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

"  I  tell  you  I  haven't  any,"  insisted  Terry,  backing 
as  fast  as  Thunder  Horse  advanced. 

They  were  almost  at  the  timber's  edge,  again,  and 
he  could  not  back  much  further  without  getting  into  a 
pocket.  The  mare  was  growing  restive ;  but  something 
in  the  Kiowa's  watchful  attitude  let  Terry  know  that 
his  enemy  was  ready  to  head  off  a  dash  around  to  the 
left  where  the  land  was  level. 

"  What  got  in  bag?  "  asked  Thunder  Horse,  edging 
on.  He  indicated  the  canvas  sack  in  which  the  eggs 
were  packed  in  grass.  "  Give." 

"  I'll  show  you  what  I've  got  in  that  bag,"  announced 
Terry,  outwardly  bold  but  inwardly  alarmed. 

He  really  did  not  know  exactly  what  he  was  going 
to  do,  when  he  thrust  in  one  hand  while  endeavoring 
to  control  his  mare  with  the  other.  Thunder  Horse 
was  observing  closely.  One  came  Terry's  hand — and 
with  sudden  hot  resolution  he  let  fly.  He  did  it  so 
quickly  that  he  surprised  even  himself,  but  he  surprised 
Thunder  Horse  more.  The  egg  (it  was  a  large  one) 
landed  better  than  if  Terry  had  paused  to  take  aim. 
First  he  saw  the  Kiowa's  ugly,  greasy,  pitted  face  leer- 
ing at  him ;  next  he  saw  it  all  streaming  with  the  yellow 
yolk,  for  the  egg  had  burst  squarely  on  the  low  fore- 
head. 

"  Wagh !  "  ejaculated  Thunder  Horse,  clawing  at  his 
eyes,  while  his  pony  reared. 

Terry  seized  the  lucky  chance.  With  a  whoop  he 
hammered  his  heels  against  the  old  mare's  sides,  and 
dashed  past,  in  flight.  Thunder  Horse  grabbed  vainly 
at  him,  and  wheeled  in  pursuit.  Great  Caesar's  ghost ! 


TWO  AMAZING  ENCOUNTERS         121 

He  was  coming!  Glancing  back  Terry  saw  him,  his 
blanket  dropped  about  his  thighs,  his  face  all  smeared, 
his  moccasined  heels  hammering  his  pony,  pelting  in 
pursuit.  It  was  funny — his  egged-up  face  made  him 
look  like  a  clown — but  it  was  serious,  too,  for  he  seemed 
to  be  infuriated. 

The  fat  old  mare  was  no  match  for  the  wiry  pony, 
in  a  race. 

"  Crickity ! "  sighed  Terry,  dubious  over  the  result 
of  his  adventure. 

The  Kiowa  was  gaining  rapidly.  Terry  extracted 
another  .egg,  and  turned  in  the  saddle.  At  the  motion 
Thunder  Horse  abruptly  ducked.  He  had  no  liking 
for  eggs  served  this  way.  Terry  threw — and  missed ; 
but  he  quickly  extracted  a  third  egg  and  threw  again, 
and  hit  the  pony  between  the  eyes.  At  the  smash  of 
the  egg  the  pony  tossed  his  head  and  swerved,  almost 
unseating  Thunder  Horse,  and  Terry,  an  egg  again  in 
his  hand,  gained. 

However,  the  Kiowa  kept  coming.  Whenever  Ee 
drew  near,  Terry  threw  at  him;  some  of  the  eggs 
missed,  but  others  struck — to  smash  on  the  Kiowa' s 
broad  chest,  and  arms,  and  once  right  on  his  ear,  and 
also  on  the  pony's  breast  and  nose.  Twice  Thunder 
Horse  arrived  right  along  side — reached  for  the  bridle 
rein — and  missed  it  only  because  an  egg  found  lucky 
mark  on  his  scowling  face,  making  him  dodge  as  Terry 
veered  away. 

This  could  not  last  forever,  though;  the  eggs 
wouldn't,  anyway.  Now  Terry  had  been  chased  off 
the  trail  and  into  the  trackless  prairie,  and  was 


122  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

thoroughly  frightened.  The  Kiowa  was  bound  to 
catch  him,  eggs  or  no  eggs;  and  then,  what?  But  at 
this  crisis — with  Terry  turning  and  twisting  like  a 
rabbit,  and  the  Kiowa  ducking  and  reaching  like  a 
hawk,  and  the  fat  mare  blowing  and  the  daubed  pony 
apparently  as  relentless  as  its  worse  daubed  master — a 
shrill  cry  rang  high,  through  the  breezy  air.  Across 
the  prairie,  from  the  direction  of  the  trail  a  squad  of 
horsemen  were  spurring  to  the  fracas:  soldiers — 
cavalrymen ! 

The  Kiowa  must  have  heard  and  seen,  for  with  one 
final  grunt  and  useless  grab  at  the  mare's  bridle  he 
wheeled  about  and  bending  low  tore  off  at  top  speed. 
Terry  steadied  himself — threw  his  last  egg,  which  he 
had  been  saving  for  an  especially  telling  crack.  It 
struck  Thunder  Horse  right  in  the  middle  of  the  bare 
back,  spattering  him  from  shoulder  to  shoulder. 

"  You'd  better  get!  "  yelled  Terry,  after  him. 

The  cavalry  squad  had  spread  out,  as  if  to  head  off 
Thunder  Horse;  but  he  was  fleeing  in  the  opposite 
direction,  and  they  did  not  have  the  slightest  chance  to 
catch  him,  and  did  not  even  shoot  at  him.  With  clatter 
of  saber  and  carbine,  and  jingle  of  bridle,  they  drew 
in  on  Terry. 

The  first  to  arrive  was  a  red-faced  sergeant ;  he  was 
grinning  broadly — and  grinning  were  all  the  men  clos- 
ing in  behind  and  right  and  left. 

"Faith!"  grinned  the  sergeant.  "An'  eggs  must 
be  cheap  where  you  come  from,  me  lad.  Niver  did  I 
see  an  Injun  before  in  that  kind  av  war-paint.  How 
many  did  ye  throw  at  him  ?  " 


TWO  AMAZING  ENCOUNTERS         123 

"  Three  dozen,"  answered  Terry,  ruefully. 

"Fresh  wans?" 

"Yes,  sir — but  I  wish  they  hadn't  been,"  asserted 
Terry. 

"  Haw,  haw !  "  roared  the  sergeant.  "  'Tis  an 
omelette  ye  made  av  him."  And  roared  the  tickled 
men.  "  An'  what  Injun  was  he?  "  asked  the  sergeant. 
"  A  Kiowa,  I'm  thinkin',  by  the  cut  av  his  hair." 

"  Yes,  sir.  He  was  Thunder  Horse,  a  Kiowa ;  and 
he  was  drunk." 

"  That  old  rascal  ?  The  likes  av  him — attackin'  a 
slip  av  a  lad  carryin'  eggs  to  market !  An'  where  might 
ye  be  a-goin',  boy?  " 

"  To  Fort  Riley.  I  thought  maybe  I  could  sell  them 
our  hay.  It  isn't  ready  yet,  but  it's  growing  on  our 
ranch.  And  we'll  have  corn,  too;  and  potatoes" 
answered  Terry. 

"  An'  where  might  the  ranch  be,  then  ?  "  queried  the 
sergeant. 

"  It's  the  last  ranch  up  the  Valley  of  the  Blue,"  in- 
formed Terry.  "  We  moved  onto  it  only  a  month  ago, 
but  it's  booming." 

"  An'  be  ye  rumrin'  it?  "  asked  the  sergeant,  his  eyes 
twinkling. 

He  was  a  first  sergeant,  Terry  knew,  because  he  wore 
yellow  chevrons  with  a  lozenge  in  the  angle  of  the  three 
bars.  He  must  be  a  veteran  in  the  service,  too ;  for  his 
freckled  face  was  parched  to  a  deep  maroon  by  the 
plains  breezes,  and  his  short  bristly  moustache  was 
faded  to  a  carroty  yellow.  He  was  a  stocky,  square- 
sitting  little  man — and  one  might  have  thought  him 
fierce-looking  were  it  not  for  his  twinkling  blue  eyes. 


124  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

"  My  mother  and  I  are  running  it  till  my  father 
comes  back  to  help.  We  lost  him,  crossing  a  creek,  but 
we've  got  his  hat  that  was  found  on  shore,  so  we  know 
he's  somewhere,"  declared  Terry. 

"  Runnin'  a  ranch — the  two  av  'em !  "  gasped  the 
sergeant.  "  A  woman  an'  a  boy  the  size  av  him !  But 
he's  wonderful  with  eggs — he's  sheer  wonderful. 
Hivin  help  that  Thunder  Horse— he'll  after  be  bathin' 
for  the  first  time  in  all  his  dirty  life ! "  The  grizzled 
red-faced  sergeant  scratched  his  stubbly  chin  and  sur- 
veyed Terry.  "  An'  what's  the  name  av  you,  me  lad  ?  " 
he  inquired. 

"  Terry  Richards." 

"  All  right,  Terry.  I  knew  ye  must  be  Irish.  I'm 
Pathrick  Murphy,  top  sergeant  av  the  First  United 
States  Dragoons  that  they  do  be  after  callin'  the 
cavalry.  So  come  along,  Terry  me  boy.  We'll  take  ye 
over  to  Left'nant  Arnold,  yon;  an'  he'll  take  ye  down 
to  the  fort,  an'  there  ye' 11  see  Captain  Steuart,  who  be 
the  quartermaster,  an'  the  cap'n  '11  engage  the  hay  an' 
corn  an'  potatoes,  but  ye  aren't  out  much  loss  on  the 
eggs,  for  they  be  only  tin  cints  the  dozen,  when  I  left; 
an'  goin'  beggin',  at  that.  Now  ride  beside  me,  an* 
we'll  talk  it  over." 

The  sergeant  barked  an  order,  the  squad  formed  in 
file  of  twos,  and  at  a  trot  they  all  rode  for  the  trail — 
Terry  beside  Sergeant  Murphy,  at  the  head  of  the  little 
column  of  dusty  blue. 

By  the  time  that  they  reached  the  main  cavalry  de- 
tachment, waiting  around  the  shoulder  of  the  rise,  the 
good-humored  sergeant  knew  most  of  Terry's  history. 


TWO  AMAZING  ENCOUNTERS        125 

"  Belike,  now/'  he  sympathized,  "  your  father  was 
struck  on  the  head  an'  his  sinses  knocked  out  av  him  so 
he  forgot  himself  entirely,  when  he  came  to.  But 
there'll  be  a  day  when  he  wakes,  the  same  as  out  of  a 
drame,  an'  yez  do  well  to  stay  right  where  yez  be,  so 
he'll  know  where  to  find  yez." 

The  half  company  of  cavalry,  about  thirty  men,  was 
waiting,  under  command  of  a  slim  young  lieutenant. 
The  sergeant  rode  forward  with  Terry,  to  report. 

"  Yon's  Left'nant  Arnold,"  he  whispered,  hoarsely, 
to  Terry.  "  An'  a  good  officer  an'  gintleman,  barrin' 
he's  a  bit  new  to  the  service  as  yit.  I'll  turn  ye  over  to 
him." 

He  saluted  the  lieutenant,  who  with  a  quizzical  smile 
surveyed  Terry  keenly. 

"  I've  fetched  you  the  boy,  left'nant,"  said  the 
sergeant.  "  But  the  Injun  got  away — an'  sure,  he  was 
well  plastered  with  eggs.  The  lad'll  tell  you  all  about 
it,  sorr." 

"  Very  well,  sergeant,"  crisply  responded  the  lieu- 
tenant. "  Ride  with  me,  my  boy.  Com'ny — 'ten-shun! 
For'd— march!  Trot!" 

And  away  they  went,  down  the  wagon  trail. 

The  lieutenant — who  seemed  to  Terry  not  much 
older  than  himself — proved  a  very  good  listener,  and 
was  highly  amused  at  the  story  of  the  egg  throwing. 
He  even  slapped  his  thigh,  and  chuckled,  and  declared 
that  eggs  were  cheaper  than  cartridges,  and  that  he'd 
make  a  report  to  the  War  Department,  on  the  new  kind 
of  ammunition.  By  the  time  that  they  came  in  sight  of 
the  fort,  he  was  as  well  acquainted  with  Terry's  history 
as  was  the  Sergeant  Murphy. 


126  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

Fort  Riley  was  located  where  the  Republican  River 
emptied  into  the  Kansas  River,  west  of  the  Blue  River. 
It  was  not  yet  completed,  but  several  stone  buildings 
were  already  up,  and  others  being  built,  grouped  around 
a  large  parade  ground,  from  the  middle  of  which 
floated,  on  a  tall  pole,  the  Stars  and  Stripes.  A  well 
traveled  and  very  dusty  wagon-road  led  into  it,  along 
the  Kansas — used  by  the  emigrants  and  freighters  from 
Kansas  City,  east,  and  the  big  Government  freight 
outfits  which  entered  it  by  a  branch  trail  from  Fort 
Leavenworth,  northeast. 

Stone-cutters  were  chipping,  a  saw-mill  was  in  full 
blast,  great  freight-wagons  were  parked,  ox-teams,  of 
six  and  eight  yoke,  were  standing,  or  pulling  their  can- 
vas-covered wagons  hither  and  thither,  settlers  and 
soldiers  were  strolling  around;  and  altogether  Fort 
Riley  was  a  busy  place. 

The  mess  call  for  dinner  was  being  sounded  by  a 
trumpeter,  from  the  flag-pole  base,  when  the  cavalry 
detachment  rode  in.  Terry,  who  was  hungry,  after  put- 
ting his  mare  in  along  with  the  cavalry  horses  dined 
with  the  sergeant  and  the  sergeant's  red-armed  Irish 
wife,  in  a  little  shanty  where  Mrs.  Murphy  evidently 
took  in  washing.  But  after  dinner  the  sergeant  con- 
ducted him  to  Lieutenant  Arnold,  and  the  lieutenant 
himself  took  him  to  see  Captain  Steuart  the  quarter- 
master. 

As  they  crossed  the  parade  ground,  on  their  way  to 
the  quartermaster's  office,  Terry  found  himself  re- 
garded with  smiling  curiosity.  Plainly  enough,  the 
story  of  the  egg  throwing  had  been  widely  circulated. 


TWO  AMAZING  ENCOUNTERS         127 

He  felt  somewhat  like  a  hero,  did  Terry,  albeit  a  little 
embarrassed.  Anyhow,  he  had  done  the  best  he  could, 
in  emergency — and  had  it  not  been  for  the  eggs, 
Thunder  Horse  surely  would  have  got  him. 

Captain  Steuart,  also,  smiled  wisely  on  receiving 
him.  He  was  a  stalwart,  broad-shouldered,  weather- 
bronzed  man  with  dark  eyes  and  a  black  goatee.  At  the 
lieutenant's  salute  and  presentation,  the  captain  rose 
promptly  and  in  elaborate  manner  shook  hands. 

"  Proud  to  meet  you,  Mr.  Richards,"  he  asserted. 
"  I  understand  you  are  the  champion  marksman  with 
field  artillery,  and  your  shells  never  fail  to  explode,  on 
impact." 

"If  you  only  might  have  seen  that  Indian,  through 
the  glasses,  as  I  saw  him,"  chuckled  the  lieutenant. 
"  Henceforth  his  name  is  Big  Omelette." 

"  How  much  hay  have  you  in  sight,  my  boy  ? " 
queried  the  captain,  coming  down  to  business. 

"  About  two  hundred  tons,  sir,"  answered  Terry. 

"  Good !  "  approved  the  captain.  "  You  can  consider 
it  engaged  by  the  government — all  or  any  part  of  it. 
Suppose  you'll  want  to  reserve  some  of  it  for  your 
own  stock.  Very  well.  We'll  say  one  hundred  and 
fifty  tons,  delivered  here,  at  the  market  price.  If  you 
can't  deliver  it,  let  me  know.  I'll  make  out  the  proper 
contract.  Corn?  Got  corn?  Potatoes?" 

"  Yes,  sir.  Twelve  acres  of  corn,  and  I  don't  know 
how  much  potatoes." 

"  All  right.  We'll  say  sixty  bushels  of  corn  to  the 
acre ;  that  makes  seven  hundred  bushels.  You'll  doubt- 
less want  half  yourself.  We'll  take  the  rest.  Fetch 


128  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

along  your  potatoes,  too.  Any  boy  who  can  look  out 
for  himself  the  way  you  did  deserves  patronage.  We 
need  just  that  kind  of  settler  out  here.  Now,  if  I  can 
help  you  further  to  make  that  ranch  a  success,  let  me 
know.  Got  any  timber  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  sir,"  stammered  Terry.  "  A  lot  of  it, 
down  by  the  creek." 

"What  is  it?" 

"  Black  walnut,  and  cottonwood,  and  plums  and  hick- 
ory and  oak,  and  some  I  don't  know  yet,"  informed 
Terry. 

"  Well,  when  you  get  ready  to  cut  that  timber,  you 
figure  it  up,"  pursued  Captain  Steuart.  "  Maybe  you 
can  drive  a  bargain  with  us.  We  need  lumber  and  fuel, 
same  as  anybody." 

It  all  been  so  absurdly  easy,  that  Terry  went  out 
quite  dazed  with  his  unexpected  large  contracts.  Those 
eggs  had  not  been  wasted.  Why,  Captain  Steuart  had 
treated  him  as  a  man! 

He  was  wild  to  get  home  and  tell  his  mother;  and 
decided  to  go  right  down  to  Manhatten,  and  make  his 
purchases,  and  leave  for  the  ranch  early  in  the  morning. 
If  it  wasn't  for  resting  the  mare,  he  might  have  planned 
to  start  on  up  that  evening — but  of  course  he  ought  not 
to  try. 

He  said  good-by  to  young  Lieutenant  Arnold,  and 
was  cinching  the  saddle  on  the  mare  in  the  stables, 
when  Sergeant  Murphy  clanked  in. 

"  An'  are  ye  off  ?  "  queried  the  sergeant. 

"Yes,  sir;  to  Manhattan,"  busily  answered  Terry. 

"  Sure,  then,  I'll  be  glad  av  the  comp'ny,"  responded 


TWO  AMAZING  ENCOUNTERS        129 

the  sergeant.    "  JTis  where  I'm  after  goin',  meself ." 

Glad  was  Terry,  likewise ;  and  together  they  ambled 
out,  and  soon  struck  the  dusty  road  leading  down 
the  course  of  the  Kansas,  for  the  town  of  Manhattan, 
some  eighteen  miles.  The  sergeant  thought  they  ought 
to  arrive  in  two  hours  and  a  half. 

It  was  an  interesting  road,  traveled  constantly  by 
emigrant  outfits  of  wagons — all  kinds — heavily  laden 
with  household  goods,  and  drawn  by  horses  and 
oxen  and  even  cows,  pushing  on  for  new  homes  in  the 
Valley  of  the  Republican,  above  the  fort;  by  freight 
trains  of  huge,  covered  wagons  and  long  "  bull "  teams, 
accompanied  by  booted,  red-shirted,  whiskered  "  bull 
whackers,"  hauling  settler  and  government  supplies; 
and  by  numerous  traders  and  hunters  and  adventurers, 
horseback  or  muleback ;  and  by  cavalvades  of  Indians, 
mainly  Pottawattamies  from  the  reservation  down  the 
river. 

"  Iverybody  goin'  west — an'  always  west,"  remarked 
the  sergeant.  "  Tis  wonderful — fair  wonderful.  An* 
where'll  they  stop?" 

"  Does  this  road  lead  clear  across  the  Rocky  Moun- 
tains? "  asked  Terry. 

"  No,  sorr.  This  is  part  of  the  government  cut-off 
from  Fort  Leavenworth  to  join  the  trail  to  Santy  Fee 
down  southwards.  There  be  no  road  across  the  Rocky 
Mountains,  save  the  Oregon  Trail  an*  the  Calif orny 
Trail,  up  the  Platte  River,  to  the  north.  But  I  hear 
tell  there  be  a  party  formin'  now,  at  Manhattan,  to  go 
on  west  to  the  mountains,  sakin'  for  gold.  I  don't 
envy  'em.  I  was  out  there  wance — twinty  an'  more 


130  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

years  ago,  in  Thirtyfive,  with  Colonel  Henry  Dodge  an* 
the  First  Dragoons.  We  went  out  by  the  Oregon 
Trail,  an*  followed  the  mountains  south,  to  the  Ar- 
kansas River  an'  the  Santy  Fee  Trail;  an'  it  be  no- 
man's  country — jist  desert  an'  rocks  an'  Injuns,  with 
now  an'  then  a  creek  for  drinkin'  an'  a  bit  av  grass  for 
the  horses." 

"  Did  you  see  any  gold?  "  asked  Terry 

"  Niver  a  glimmer.  Yes,  an'  I've  been  within  sight 
of  'em  many  a  time  since,  at  Fort  Laramie,  an'  at  Bent's 
trading  post  av  the  south,  an'  I've  talked  with  men 
who've  been  into  'em,  an'  there's  mainly  snow  an*  cold 
an'  wild  beasts;  but  niver  yit  have  I  seen  a  grain  av 
gold  from  the  Rocky  Mountains.  Gold  comes  from 
Californy." 

They  had  ridden  about  half  way  to  Manhattan, 
when  they  met  a  greater  company  of  ox  teams  than  any 
encountered  before.  There  were  seven  wagons,  drawn 
some  by  one  yoke,  some  by  two,  the  drivers  trudging 
alongside  the  fore  wheels,  several  men  on  horseback, 
and  all  proceeding  under  a  cloud  of  dust.  The  riders 
were  well  armed,  other  guns  could  be  seen  sticking  out 
from  the  wagons,  and  wedged  against  the  outside  of 
the  wagon  boxes  were  a  number  of  picks  and  long- 
handled  spades. 

It  did  not  look  like  an  emigrant  outfit,  because  there 
were  no  women  and  children ;  neither  did  the  travelers 
look  like  hunters  or  traders.  But  evidently  they  were 
bound  far. 

The  sergeant  led  around  the  straining,  toiling,  creak- 
ing column.  As  Terry  followed,  one  of  the  horsemen 


TWO  AMAZING  ENCOUNTERS        131 

turned  out  slightly,  almost  in  front  of  him,  and  dis- 
mounted to  tighten  his  saddle  cinch.  Terry  briefly 
halted,  also,  to  watch  a  moment  and  ask  some  questions 
that  were  burning  on  his  tongue :  that  is,  ask  them  if 
he  was  given  the  chance. 

The  man  briefly  glanced  at  him,  and  continued  to 
jerk  at  the  strap  under  the  horse's  belly. 

"  Howdy  ?  "  ventured  Terry.  "  Are  you  all  going  to 
California?  " 

"  We're  going  to  the  mountains,"  answered  the  man, 
still  busy. 

He  seemed  to  be  a  gentlemanly  man — in  fact,  very 
pleasant,  although  he  did  not  again  glance  up.  He  was 
clean  shaven,  with  blue  eyes,  and  hair  cut  close,  and 
looked  rather  pale,  as  if  he  might  have  been  ill,  lately. 

Something  in  his  voice  and  the  side  of  his  face  struck 
Terry  as  familiar — but  he  could  not  for  the  life  of  him 
remember  where  he  had  ever  met  this  man  before. 

"  To  the  Rocky  Mountains,  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Yes,  young  man ;  to  the  Rocky  Mountains,  for 
gold." 

Terry  was  more  and  more  puzzled.  He  certainly 
knew  this  man — or  at  least  he  had  known  some  man 
similar  to  him.  But  where?  And  when?  However, 
no  time  was  granted  to  renew  the  acquaintance  further, 
for  the  man  had  finished  tightening  the  girth,  and 
climbed  into  the  saddle  again. 

"  Good  day  to  you,  my  boy,"  he  bade,  in  a  slow,  even 
tone.  And  politely  raising  his  hat  in  a  salute  trotted 
on. 

Terry  noted  that  in  his  close  cropped  hair  was  a  long 


132  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

bald  spot ;  and  that  his  full  face,  as  he  passed,  was  more 
f  amilar  than  his  profile.  And  the  voice !  It  had  such 
a  haunting  tone  to  it. 

Racking  his  brain,  Terry  also  rode  on,  to  overtake 
the  sergeant.  As  he  drew  up  alongside,  suddenly  an 
idea  possessed  him,  and  he  stopped.  Sergeant  Murphy 
stopped. 

"  What's  the  matter  now  ?  "  queried  the  sergeant. 

"  Did  you  see  that  man  I  was  talking  to  ?  "  demanded 
Terry,  excitedly. 

"  I  saw  ye  watchin'  wan  av  them  gold-seekers,"  ad- 
mitted the  sergeant. 

"  He  was  my  father !  "  exclaimed  Terry.  "  Any- 
way, I  think  he  was  my  father.  But  he  didn't  look  like 
him — he  only  sort  of  felt  like  him." 

Sergeant  Murphy  wheeled  his  horse  about  and  stared 
after  the  wagons. 

"  You  don't  say!    An'  did  ye  ask  him?  " 

"  No,"  replied  Terry.  "  He  didn't  seem  to  know 
me,  and  he's  so  different  I  wasn't  sure  I  knew  him. 
He  passed  right  on.  You  see,  he  didn't  have  any  whis- 
kers, and  he  was  too  thin,  and  his  hair  was  too 
short " 

"  He  looked  like  a  new-comer,  to  me,"  said  the  ser- 
geant. "  I  marked  him  for  that  r'ason.  Faith,  an* 
what's  to  be  done,  if  ye  aren't  sure,  an*  he  doesn't  know 
you.  Could  ye  idintify  him  by  any  special  mark  ex- 
cept gin'ral  resemblance  ?  " 

"  N— no,"  confessed  Terry.  "  It's  just— just— well, 
if  I'd  heard  him  and  hadn't  seen  him — but  I'm  only 
pretty  sure  and  can't  prove  anything." 


TWO  AMAZING  ENCOUNTERS         133 

"Well,"  declared  the  sergeant,  rubbing  his  chin. 
"  I  dunno.  He  didn't  know  you,  and  ye  can't  make 
certain  ye  know  him.  There  often  be  resemblances. 
There  they  go,  anyhow — "  for  the  horseman  had 
galloped  on  ahead  of  the  column,  and  were  disappear- 
ing, "an*  what's  to  be  done?  We  might  inquire  at 
Manhattan,  for  the  name  av  him,  an*  where  he's  from. 
Ye  aren't  sure  ?  " 

Terry  shook  his  head. 

"  He's  awfully  different.  Maybe  he  isn't — maybe 
I  only  met  up  with  him  somewhere,  once.  My  mother'd 
know,  though." 

"  Well,"  resumed  the  sergeant,  "  it's  a  pity  she  isn't 
here,  then.  That's  the  gold-huntin'  party  I  was  tellin' 
you  about,  you've  been  makin'  ready  at  Manhattan  to 
start  for  the  Rocky  Mountains.  Green  Russell's  the 
captain  av  them,  an'  the  most  are  from  Georgy.  He 
claims  he  saw  gold  at  the  foot  av  the  Rockies,  in  Forty- 
nine,  on  his  way  to  Calif  orny;  an*  yon  he  goes,  to  find 
the  gold  again.  It's  a  cruel  trail  he's  bent  on  takin* — 
six  hundred  an'  more  miles  across  the  desert.  But  we'll 
inquire  about,  at  Manhattan,  for  the  man  who  might 
be  your  father  an'  then  mightn't." 


CHAPTER  X 

TERRY   FINDS   A   PARTNER 

THEY  arrived  at  the  town  of  Manhattan  before  sun- 
set. The  first  thing  they  did  was  to  inquire  around, 
as  the  sergeant  had  promised,  about  the  make-up  of 
the  Green  Russell  party  of  gold  seekers. 

Yes,  the  party  had  been  formed  here.  Green  Rus- 
sell was  from  Leavenworth ;  he  had  brought  with  him 
to  Manhattan  a  dozen  other  men,  mainly  of  Georgia, 
and  had  been  joined  by  half  a  dozen  more.  They 
expected  to  meet  thirty  or  forty  Cherokee  Indians  and 
Missourians,  on  the  way  to  the  mountains,  and  all  were 
going  to  look  for  gold.  Green  Russell's  wife  was  a 
Cherokee  woman ;  that  was  why  so  many  of  the  Chero- 
kees  had  enlisted. 

The  thin- faced,  smooth-shaven  man  was  a  stranger 
by  the  name  of  Jones.  He  had  said  he  was  from  Kan- 
sas City  and  had  been  sick.  He  had  not  mentioned 
any  family ;  but  he  had  proved  to  be  handy  with  tools, 
and  had  bought  a  horse  and  gun  and  had  gone  with  the 
gold  seekers.  From  Fort  Riley  the  party  were  to  strike 
out  into  the  desert,  and  make  their  own  trail  down 
to  the  Santa  Fe  Trail,  and  travel  on  out  to  the  moun- 
tains that  way. 

"  If  he  said  his  name  was  Jones,  mebbe  Jones  it  be," 
134 


TERRY  FINDS  A  PARTNER  135 

reasoned  the  sergeant,  to  the  puzzled  Terry.  "  Or 
mebbe  he  thinks  it  is  Jones,  an'  it  be  Richards.  I  dunno. 
You  think  you  know  him — an'  again  you  think 
you  know  some  other  man  resemblin'  him.  Sure, 
at  any  rate,  if  he's  your  father,  he's  alive  an'  well, 
barrin'  forgettin'  himself;  an'  like  as  not  he'll  dig  a 
fortune  yonder  an'  come  back  to  yez  an'  yez'll  all  be 
happy  wance  more  together.  Ye'll  do  better,  I'm  think- 
in',  to  go  home  to  your  mother  who  needs  you,  rather'n 
be  settin'  off  on  a  wild-goose  chase  after  a  man  who 
doesn't  need  you  an'  might  not  feel  plazed  to  be  called 
'  father  '  by  a  lad  he  doesn't  know. 

Terry  took  the  advice.  It  would  have  been  great  to 
bring  his  father  home  with  him!  What  a  time  they 
all  would  have  had !  But,  shucks,  Mr.  Jones  might  not 
agree  to  come ;  he  might  decline  to  be  adopted,  and  he 
might  not  be  the  right  man,  after  all.  So  Terry  gave 
up  his  notion  of  setting  out  after  the  gold-seeker  com- 
pany, and  decided  that  he  ought  to  return  to  his  mother 
as  quick  as  he  could.  She  was  alone,  and  Thunder 
Horse  might  be  making  her  trouble,  and  the  ranch  de- 
manded attention,  and  he  was  full  of  news  for  her;  and 
he  ought  to  complete  his  errands  and  hurry  back. 

Manhattan  was  a  bustling  little  town  of  about  150 
inhabitants,  nicely  located  near  where  the  Big  Blue 
River  emptied  into  the  Arkansas  River.  There  were  a 
saw-mill,  and  a  couple  of  stores,  and  many  settlers 
and  freighters  and  reservation  Indians — Pottawat- 
tamies,  Osages,  Kansas,  Shawnees,  and  others,  begging 
and  visiting — and  a  few  of  the  soldiers  from  Fort 
Riley. 


136  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

Terry  hustled  to  make  his  purchases,  before  dark,  and 
to  be  ready  to  start  for  the  ranch  early  in  the  morning. 
The  sergeant  had  business  of  his  own;  and  Terry  was 
tugging  at  his  sack  of  flour,  to  drag  it  to  the  pile  he  was 
building  in  the  stable  where  the  old  mare  was  stalled, 
when  a  young  man  offered  to  help  him. 

"  Better  give  me  an  end  of  that  sack,  and  we'll  tote 
it  together,"  spoke  the  young  man. 

He  was  a  slightly  framed,  bright  faced  young  man, 
with  laughing  brown  eyes  and  a  long  chin,  and  a  clear, 
tanned  complexion.  He  wore  "  store  "  clothes  of  dusty 
blue  worsted,  a  gray  flannel  shirt  and  red  tie,  on  his 
feet  coarse  heavy  shoes  and  on  his  shapely  head  a  flap- 
ping brimmed  black  slouch  hat. 

"  All  right— I'll  be  mighty  glad  of  a  lift,"  accepted 
Terry —  for  nobody  in  all  the  crowd  seemed  to  have  the 
time  to  help  a  boy. 

"  Where  to  ?  "  asked  the  young  man,  taking  an  end 
of  the  sack. 

"  Down  to  the  Happy  Home  stables,  where  my  horse 
is,"  answered  Terry.  "  I'm  putting  things  there,  to 
have  'em  ready  in  the  morning." 

"  You  must  be  head  of  a  family,  by  the  way  you're 
working,"  laughed  the  young  man,  panting  as  they 
lugged  the  sack — and  Terry  noted  that  he  moved  with 
a  limp.  "  Now,  where  you  from  and  where  you  go- 
ing— as  people  say,  out  in  this  country  ?  " 

"  My  mother  and  I've  got  a  ranch  up  the  Big  Blue 
Valley,"  proudly  informed  Terry.  "  I'm  down  here 
buying  supplies,  but  I'm  going  home  to-morrow,  early." 

"  You  are,  are  you  ?    Traveling  alone  ?  " 


TERRY  FINDS  A  PARTNER  137 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Can  you  find  your  way  ?  " 

"Of  course.    It's  only  about  five  hours." 

"  Aren't  you  afraid  of  Indians  or  buffalo?  " 

"  No,"  scoffed  Terry.  "  Haven't  seen  many  buffalo. 
They're  getting  scared  out.  But  I  met  an  Injun,  named 
Thunder  Horse,  and* when  he  tried  to  stop  me  because 
he  was  drunk  I  pelted  him  with  eggs.  Now  his  name's 
Big  Omelette ! " 

The  young  man  threw  back  his  head  and  laughed. 

"You  did!"  he  chuckled.  "Good  for  you!  But 
what's  your  name?  Mine's  Harry  Revere.  I'm  from 
Virginia." 

"Mine's  Terry  Richards,"  responded  Terry.  "I 
used  to  be  from  Ohio,  but  now  I  live  in  Kansas." 

They  had  reached  the  stable.  Mr.  Revere  thought- 
fully surveyed  the  potatoes  and  other  stuff,  to  which 
was  added  the  flour. 

"  How  do  you  expect  to  carry  all  this  ?  "  he  queried. 
"On  one  horse?" 

"  I  guess  so,"  asserted  Terry,  but  rather  doubtful, 
himself.  "  Maybe  I'll  have  to  walk." 

"  I'll  tell  you,  Terry,"  proposed  Mr.  Revere.  "  I'm 
going  up  that  way,  and  if  you  don't  object  to  company 
we'll  start  together.  I've  got  a  horse  and  can  spell  you 
with  your  load.  What  do  you  say  ?  " 

"  Good,"  agreed  Terry. 

"All  right.  Where  are  you  stopping  for  the 
night?" 

"  Here,"  explained  Terry— a  little  sheepish.  "  The 
livery  man  said  I  could  sleep  in  the  manger  and  he 


THE  BOY  SETTLER 

wouldn't  charge  me,  except  for  the  horse.  I  haven't 
money  enough  for  hiring  a  bed." 

"  Neither  have  I,"  declared  Mr.  Revere,  promptly. 
"  You  see,  I'm  a  school  teacher,  and  scholars  are  scarce. 
Any  chance  for  a  school,  your  way  ?  " 

Terry  stared. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  faltered.  "  We're  all  busy.  I 
suppose,  though,  there'll  be  a  school  sometime." 

"  Of  course  there  will,"  asserted  Mr.  Revere.  "  No- 
body can  civilize  a  country  without  schools.  Education 
is  the  only  difference  between  a  white  man  and  a  savage. 
But  we  won't  argue  that  out,  now.  You've  found  a 
place  to  sleep,  you  say;  so  I  must  find  a  place.  That 
manger's  not  big  enough  for  two,  is  it?  How  about 
the  other  mangers,  I  wonder." 

"  They're  engaged,"  faltered  Terry.  "  So's  the  hay- 
loft— but  it's  just  for  women  so  they  won't  smoke  and 
set  it  afire.  The  town's  awfully  full  of  people,  isn't 
it?" 

"  Packed,"  said  Mr.  Revere.  "  Let's  see.  Do  you 
think  we  could  both  squeeze  into  that  manger?  It's 
pretty  good  size." 

"  We  could  try,"  invited  Terry. 

"  I  might  sit  up  with  my  legs  out,  and  you  could  sit 
in  front  of  me  and  use  me  as  a  pillow,"  mused  Mr. 
Revere.  "  Well,  we'll  do  our  best.  But  it's  your  man- 
ger, anyway.  Have  you  had  supper  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  So've  I.  I  washed  dishes  first,  to  pay  for  it,  at 
the  hotel.  I'm  a  first-rate  dish  washer.  Washed  my 
own  dishes,  which  numbered  a  knife,  fork,  two  spoons, 


TERRY  FINDS  A  PARTNER  139 

a  plate,  a  tin  cup,  and  a  sauce  pan,  all  through  college. 
Graduated  from  William  and  Mary  College  only  last 
year.  Now,  are  you  all  done  purchasing  ?  " 

"  I've  just  a  couple  of  things  to  buy,  but  I  can  carry 
them.  They  won't  weigh  much,"  responded  Terry. 

"  All  right.  I've  an  errand  or  two,  myself.  Sup- 
posing we  finish  our  business  and  then  meet  here,  for 
the  night." 

They  walked  out  together,  and  separated  to  attend  to 
their  affairs.  Terry  spent  the  last  of  his  money,  that 
he  had  been  reserving  because  he  deemed  it  was  better 
spent  this  way  than  on  merely  a  night's  lodging,  and 
was  turning  back  to  the  stable,  when  in  the  dusky,  dusty 
street  a  crowd  and  a  loud  voice  attracted  him. 

A  circle  of  laughing,  curious  men  had  formed  at  the 
entrance  to  a  so-called  "  grocery  "  where  the  principal 
goods  sold  were  liquor.  They  surrounded  two  figures ; 
and  as  Terry  wriggled  through,  for  a  view,  he  saw  that 
the  two  figures  were  Mr.  Revere  and  a  large,  shaggy 
whiskered,  coarse  voiced  man,  who  in  huge  cow-hide 
boots,  sagging  jeans  trousers,  and  heavy  red  flannel 
shirt,  topped  by  a  flaring  ragged  hat,  from  under  which 
his  hair  stuck  out  all  around,  was  a  very  unpleasant 
figure.  He  appeared  to  be  abusing  Mr.  Revere,  who 
stood  quietly  before  him. 

"  I  air  askin'  you  to  step  inside  to  the  bar,  stranger, 
an'  liquor  up  with  me,"  was  rasping  the  shaggy  ruf- 
fian. 

"  Thank  you,  but  as  I  have  already  said,  I  do  not 
care  to  drink,"  replied  Mr.  Revere,  coolly. 

"  Yes,  you  do ;  for  I'm  askin'.    I  air  Ike  Chubbers. 


I4o  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

Pine  Knot  Ike  they  call  me  whar  I  come  from,  on  ac- 
count my  bein'  so  dreff ul  tough.  I  air  the  only  man  that 
ever  roped  an'  rid  an  alligator.  I  air  half  wil'  hoss.  an* 
half  grizzily  b'ar.  Now,  stranger,  do  you  feel  a  leetle 
more  like  drinkin'  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,"  answered  Mr.  Revere,  still  coolly.  "  I 
never  have  felt  like  it  and  I  never  shall.  In  fact,  I'm 
down-right  opposed  to  liquor  at  any  time  and  in  any 
shape." 

The  shaggy  man  swelled  angrily,  and  glared  down 
upon  Mr.  Revere,  who  reached  scarcely  to  his  shoulders 
and  weighed  not  much  more  than  half  of  him. 

"  You  air !  Bound  to  pick  a  quarrel  with  me,  air 
you?  I'm  powerful  slow  to  wrath,  stranger,  an'  tol- 
er'ble  easy  to  throw,  but  I  tell  you,  you  shall  drink 
with  me." 

"  And  I  tell  you,  sir,  I  won't,"  retorted  Mr.  Revere, 
a  little  pale. 

The  shaggy  man  leaped  into  the  air,  as  if  working 
himself  to  fury;  and  held  his  clenched  fist  under  Mr. 
Revere's  nose. 

"  Stranger,"  he  bellowed,  "  you  air  crowdin'  me.  I 
leave  it  to  these  gentlemen  hyar  if  I'm  not  the  easiest- 
goin',  peace  fullest  man  that  ever  bit  ary  nail  in  two. 
But  you  air  crowdin'  me.  You  air  pickin'  a  fight  with 
me.  You  air  too  fresh  from  the  East,  an'  you  think 
you  can  bully  me  because  I  air  peaceable."  And  with 
amazing  rapidity  the  shaggy  man  had  whipped  from 
the  bosom  of  his  half-open  shirt  an  enormous  horse- 
pistol  and  had  thrust  it  right  against  little  Mr.  Revere's 
nose — where  a  moment  before  his  clenched,  hairy  fist 


TERRY  FINDS  A  PARTNER  141 

had  been.  "  Now,  stranger/'  he  continued,  loudly, 
"if  you  will  impose  on  me,  an'  air  bound  to  have  it 
so,  I'll  jest  let  you  know  that  my  wrath  is  riz,  an'  if 
you  don't  step  inside  with  me  I'll  natterly  lift  the  top 
of  your  head  off  with  this  hyar  pea-shooter." 

Terry's  heart  choked  him.  Were  all  the  crowd  going 
to  stand  idly  and  let  that  big  ruffian  abuse  poor  Mr. 
Revere.  But  nobody  made  a  move.  Everyone  seemed 
to  enjoy  the  quarrel  forced  by  the  big  man.  As  for 
Mr.  Revere,  he  withdrew  his  nose  not  an  inch.  He 
paled,  slightly,  his  nostrils  twitched,  but  he  stayed  fast, 
gazing  steadily  along  the  pistol  barrel,  at  the  shaggy 
man. 

"  Mr.  Chubbers,"  he  said,  "  I  am  entirely  unarmed, 
and  you  have  all  the  advantage.  I  do  not  wish  to  fight, 
and  I  do  not  wish  to  be  murdered  in  cold  blood.  I 
know  your  character,  and  assume  that  you  will  shoot. 
Accordingly,  if  you  make  me,  I  shall  have  to  accept 
your  invitation  and  step  inside  with  you." 

"  For  a  tenderfoot,  you  show  a  heap  of  sense, 
stranger,"  commented  Mr.  Chubbers. 

A  snigger  spread  through  the  crowd.  Mr.  Chubbers 
barely  turned  his  head  aside,  to  wink.  But  that  instant 
of  off  guard  was  enough  for  Mr.  Revere.  Up 
flashed  both  his  hands,  he  sprang  from  the  muzzle,  and 
with  a  single  vigorous  jerk  and  twist  he  had  wrested 
the  pistol  from  the  astonished  Pine  Knot  Ike— who  in 
a  twinkling  found  himself  staring  into  the  muzzle,  him- 
self. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Chubbers,"  drawled  Mr.  Revere,  pant- 
ing, a  Iktk  smite  on  his  lips,  "  we  are  more  even.  In 


142  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

fact,  I  am  bigger  than  you  are.  I  will  explain  that  while 
I  never  drink  liquor,  I'm  very  fond  of  dancing,  and  I'm 
sure  these  other  gentlemen  are,  too.  Will  you  oblige 
the  company  with  a  little  exhibition  ?  I  hear  a  fiddler 
inside.  Somebody  send  for  him,  please." 

"  Stranger,  I  do  not  keer  to  dance.  I  air  no  dancer," 
stammered  Mr.  Chubbers,  held  spell-bound  by  the  un- 
wavering pistol. 

"  Exactly  what  I  said  about  drinking,"  accused  Mr. 
Revere,  easily.  *  My  name  is  Harry  Revere,  and  I  am 
very  stubborn — more  stubborn  than  a  pine  knot.  Here 
comes  the  fiddler,  and  I  insist  that  you  dance." 

"  I  tell  you,  I  never  dance,"  protested  Mr.  Chubbers, 
very  ww-easily.  "  It  air  ag'in  my  principles." 

"  Sir,"  demanded  Mr.  Revere,  his  voice  rising  in 
sudden  sternness,  "  you  shall  dance.  Strike  up  a  double 
shuffle,  fiddler,  so  Mr.  Chubbers  can  get  his  cue.  Let 
us  have  a  little  more  room,  gentlemen." 

The  fiddler,  a  darky  widely  a-smile,  put  his  fiddle 
to  his  chin  and  scraped  away.  Mr.  Chubbers  gave  an 
appealing  glance  around,  for  sympathy  (which  he  did 
not  find),  glared  at  the  pistol  muzzle,  and  began  to 
move  his  heavy  feet. 

"  Faster,  Mr.  Chubbers,"  bade  Mr.  Revere. 

Inspired  by  the  rollicking  strains  of  the  fiddle,  Mr. 
Chubbers  increased  his  pace.  He  became  quite  jaunty, 
and  raising  the  dust,  executed  a  double-shuffle — and, 
now  grinning  as  the  crowd  clapped  and  cheered,  per- 
formed a  series  of  leaps  and  pigeon-wings. 

"  Stop,  Mr.  Chubbers,"  suddenly  ordered  Mr.  Re- 
vere, also  laughing.  "  That  will  do  nicely."  And  Pine 


TERRY  FINDS  A  PARTNER  143 

Knot  Ike  immediately  stopped  stock  still.  "  I  had  no 
intention  of  picking  a  quarrel  with  you,  and  I  have  none 
now.  You  picked  on  me,  and  you  know  it.  Here  is 
your  pistol.  I  have  not  even  a  pen-knife,  and  you  are 
much  the  larger.  If  you  wish  to  murder  an  unarmed 
man,  there  is  nothing  to  prevent  you." 

In  subdued,  uncertain  fashion  Mr.  Chubbers  cau- 
tiously accepted  his  pistol,  and  backed  away.  He  exam- 
ined the  pistol,  and  slowly  tucked  it  into  his  shirt  bosom 
again. 

"  Stranger,"  he  said,  huskily,  "  you  air  all  right. 
For  a  tenderfoot  an*  a  school  master,  you  air  somewhat 
of  a  hoss  yourself.  I  reckon  you  air  a  heap  bigger'n 
you  look.  Shake." 

He  extended  his  large  hairy  hand;  Mr.  Revere 
shook. 

"  As  it  air  powerful  late  an*  I  have  a  heap  of  travel- 
in*  to  do,  I  reckon  now  I'll  be  goin'  on,"  remarked  Mr. 
Chubbers,  apologetically;  and  as  he  retired,  the  crowd 
opened  for  him. 

"The  entertainment  is  finished,  gentlemen,"  an- 
nounced Mr.  Revere,  with  a  bow.  "Hello,  Terry. 
Let's  go  to  bed." 

Slipping  his  arm  through  Terry's  he  conducted  him 
away,  while  the  good-natured  throng  again  clapped 
and  cheered. 

"  Would  you  have  shot  him  ?  "  asked  Terry,  excited. 

"Not  much!"  laughed  Mr.  Revere.  "The  pistol 
wasn't  cocked !  The  hammer  fell  on  my  thumb  as  I 
grabbed  it.  See  ?  "  And  he  showed  his  £humb,  bleed- 
ing where  the  hammer  had  landed 


144  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

"  Would  he  have  shot  you,  though  ?  "  asked  Terry. 

"  I  didn't  wait  to  see,"  laughed  Mr.  Revere.  "  I'd 
made  up  my  mind  what  to  do." 

"  He's  an  awful  big  fellow,"  hazarded  Terry. 

"  Well,"  mused  Mr.  Revere,  tightening  his  arm  in 
Terry's,  "  you  can't  always  tell  a  man's  size  by  the  out- 
side of  him." 

They  slept  this  night  in  the  manger.  That  is,  they 
started  to  sleep  there,  together,  much  to  the  astonish- 
ment of  the  old  mare.  Mr.  Revere  climbed  in  first,  and 
sat  down,  half  leaning  back  against  the  end,  his  legs 
outstretched.  Terry  sat  between  his  knees,  and  leaned 
back  against  his  arm.  They  pulled  the  hay  around 
them.  Really,  to  Terry  it  was  very  comfortable.  His 
feet  were  under  the  feed  box,  and  his  head  was  in  the 
hollow  of  Mr.  Revere's  shoulder. 

"Great,  isn't  it!"  enthused  Mr.  Revere.  "Got 
room  enough  ?  " 

"  Lots,"  assured  Terry,  drowsily.    "  Have  you?  " 

"  Oceans  of  it,"  asserted  Mr.  Revere. 

From  other  mangers  snores  were  gurgling.  Terry 
dozed  off.  He  was  glad  of  the  feel  of  Mr.  Revere, 
who  held  him  warmly  and  firmly.  Such  company  was 
nice  to  have,  in  the  darkness. 

But  when  he  awakened,  in  the  daylight,  Mr.  Revere 
was  gone.  For  a  moment  Terry  could  not  conceive 
where  he  was,  himself :  here  in  a  narrow  box — covered 
with  hay — his  head  pillowed,  and  the  mare  staring 
in  at  him  and  gingerly  nibbling  the  hay.  Oh,  yes ;  the 
manger.  And  the  pillow  was  Mr.  Revere's  coat,  care- 
fully folded  and  well  placed.  But  what  had  become  of 
the  owner  ? 


TERRY  FINDS  A  PARTNER  145 

As  Terry  sat  up,  in  alarm,  and  the  mare  snorted  pro- 
test, Mr.  Revere's  smiling  face  peered  in  at  him. 

"  Hello,  Terry.    Ready  for  business  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir.  But  where' ve  you  been?  Didn't  you 
sleep  in  the  manger  ?  "  demanded  Terry. 

"  Certainly  I  did,"  claimed  Mr.  Revere.  "  Don't  you 
remember  how  we  started  off,  snug  as  two  bugs  in  a 
rug?  But  you  see,  Terry,  my  legs  wanted  to  get  up, 
and  the  mare  wanted  to  eat;  and  as  I'm  an  early 
riser  I  thought  I'd  be  accommodating  to  all  concerned. 
So  I've  been  viewing  the  scenery.  It's  a  beautiful 
morning." 

He  seemed  rather  worn,  did  Mr.  Revere,  with  dark 
circles  under  his  brown  eyes.  But  he  looked  and  spoke 
so  honestly,  that  Terry  dared  not  dispute  him.  Not 
for  several  years  did  Terry  learn,  from  his  mother,  that 
Mr.  Revere  had  stood  the  cramps  in  his  legs  just  as 
long  as  he  could,  until  about  midnight  he  had  gently 
slipped  away,  and  had  folded  his  coat  for  Terry's  pil- 
low, and  had  spent  the  rest  of  the  night  walking  about, 
to  keep  warm. 

"  I've  brought  my  horse  in,"  continued  Mr.  Revere, 
cheerfully.  "  We'll  saddle  up  and  tie  our  stuff  on,  and 
wash  at  the  river;  then  we'll  eat  a  cold  snack  that  I 
happen  to  have,  and  ride  like  regular  Don  Cossacks 
with  their  plunder." 

"Will  you  go  clear  to  the  ranch  with  me?"  asked 
Terry,  expectantly. 

"  If  you  ask  me  hard  enough,  I  might,"  said  Mr. 
Revere,  flushing.  "  I'm  merely  looking  'round." 

"And   will   you   stay   there?"    demanded   Terry. 


146  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

"  Haven't  any  other  place,  have  you  ?  I  need  another 
man — and  you  can  sleep  up  in  the  loft  with  me." 

"  N-no,  I  haven't  any  other  place,  special,"  con- 
fessed Mr.  Revere.  "  But  who's  the  boss,  on  that 
ranch  ?  You,  or  your  mother  ?  She  might  not  like  to 
have  such  sudden  company  ?  " 

"  I  guess  she's  the  boss,"  admitted  Terry.  "  But  you 
won't  be  company.  You  can  teach  me,  nights,  and  days 
we'll  plow  and  go  fishing  and  hunt  buffalo  and  deer  and 
panthers.  And  rattlesnakes,  too;  there  are  heaps  of 
rattlesnakes." 

"  Rattlesnakes?  "  mused  Mr.  Revere.  "  I  kept  hear- 
ing a  rattlesnake  all  night.  Think  there  must  be  one 
under  this  manger." 

"  Aw,"  said  Terry,  blushing,  "  that's  something  I'm 
wearing,  'round  my  neck.  It's  a  brotherhood  sign. 
George  Stanton  wears  one  like  it.  He's  the  other 
brother." 

"  This  sounds  very  interesting,"  acknowledged  Mr. 
Revere.  "  I  believe  I'll  ride  up  with  you,  at  any  rate, 
and  see  what's  going  on." 

"  All  right,"  cried  Terry,  heartily  glad,  and  tum- 
bling out.  "  Maybe  we'll  meet  Thunder  Horse  on  the 
way." 

"  But  we  haven't  any  eggs/'  laughed  Mr.  Revere. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE   PARTNER   GETS   BUSY 

AT  this  moment  a  prolonged  "  Hee-haw !  Hee-haw ! 
Hee-ha-aw-aw-aw ! "  from  outside  the  stable  seemed 
to  summon  them. 

"  You  will  observe,"  quoth  Mr.  Revere,  "  that  my 
horse  has  an  unusual  voice.  And  presently  I  shall  ask 
you  to  admire  her  beautiful  ears.  I  judge  by  her  song 
that  she's  getting  impatient." 

He  led  out. 

"  Her  name  is  Jenny,"  he  said,  over  his  shoulder. 

And  that  was  a  very  proper  name,  for  his  "  horse  " 
proved  to  be  a  large,  raw-boned,  yellow  mule.  At 
sight  of  her  master,  Jenny  pricked  her  extensive  ears, 
and  "  Hee-hawed  "  again.  She  bore  a  disreputable 
looking  saddle,  to  which  one  stirrup  was  fastened  by 
hide  thongs.  The  leather  of  the  tree  had  been  patched 
with  cow-hide,  hair  out,  and  the  horn,  or  pommel,  had 
been  broken  off  and  capped,  also,  with  the  red  cow- 
hide. As  for  the  bridle,  that,  likewise,  was  a  thing 
of  pieces. 

But  Mr.  Revere  appeared  not  a  whit  apologetic. 

"  Jenny  is  not  pretty,  but  she  loves  me,"  he  stated. 

"Does  she  ride  easy?"  queried  Terry.  "Some 
mules  ride  easier  than  a  horse." 

147 


148  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

"And  some  don't,"  responded  Mr.  Revere,  drily. 
"  Jennie  is  a  creature  of  two  minds.  Her  hinder  half 
is  eager  and  willing,  but  her  front  half  is  very  deliber- 
ate; and  when  they  meet  in  the  middle,  she  rather 
hunches  up.  That  is  where  I  sit,  as  judge  and  jury, 
and  the  two  halves  fight  it  out  under  me.  But,"  he 
added,  stroking  Jenny's  nose  while  she  blissfully  closed 
her  eyes,  "  Jenny  loves  me,  and  she  rarely  bites." 

Terry  saddled  his  mare;  and  he  and  Mr.  Revere 
loaded  the  supplies  aboard  the  horse  and  the  yellow 
mule,  tied  fast  sacks  and  all,  then  mounted,  themselves. 

At  the  river  they  washed  and  ate  the  cold  snack  pro- 
vided by  Mr.  Revere,  and  were  ready  to  start. 

"  Supposing,"  proffered  Mr.  Revere,  as  they  headed 
up  the  valley,  for  "  home  ",  "  that  you  call  me  Harry, 
and  see  how  I  like  it.  Jenny  tries,  but  she  has  great 
difficulty  in  pronouncing.  She  says  '  Hee-haw-ry/ 
How  do  you  say  it  ?  " 

"  Harry,"  promptly  demonstrated  Terry. 

"  Well  done,"  praised  Mr.  Revere.  "  I  like  it  first- 
rate." 

So,  gaily  chatting,  Terry  and  his  new  partner  Harry 
rode  up  the  green  sparkling  Valley  of  the  Big  Blue,  in 
Kansas  Territory  of  May,  1858. 

Yes,  the  yellow  mule  certainly  had  an  odd  gait,  in 
both  trot  and  lope.  Her  legs  were  long  and  loose; 
and  whereas  the  hind  pair  reached  forward  the  front 
pair  held  back,  so  that  betwixt  the  two  Mr.  Revere  was 
constantly  bounced  up  and  down.  He  did  not  seem  to 
mind. 

They  did  not  meet  any  Thunder  Horse,  but  because 


THE  PARTNER  GETS  BUSY     149 

of  their  loads  and  their  chatting  they  spent  rather  more 
than  the  five  hours  on  the  trip,  and  not  until  almost 
noon  did  they  arrive  in  sight  of  the  ranch  cabin. 

"See  it?"  bade  Terry.  "This  is  the  ranch,  and 
there's  the  house." 

He  quickened  the  pace  of  the  fat  mare,  who,  nothing 
loth  to  greet  her  waiting  colt,  broke  into  a  lope.  The 
yellow  mule,  with  long  ears  jutted  forward,  humped 
beside.  Mr.  Revere's  eyes  roved  over  the  pleasant 
landscape. 

"  It  looks  like  a  right  good  piece  of  land,"  he  com- 
mented. 

"  And  there,'*  triumphantly  announced  Terry,  "  is 
my  mother,  in  the  doorway.  She's  expecting  me." 

"  That,"  declared  Mr.  Revere,  "  is  the  best  sight  of 
all." 

Everything  appeared  to  be  peaceful  and  serene. 
Terry  felt  as  though  he  had  been  gone  a  great  while,  for 
much  had  happened  to  him.  He  waved  to  his  mother, 
and  she  waved  back,  and  peered,  as  if  she  were  a  bit 
astonished  to  see  him  arriving  with  company. 

Now  Shep  ran  forward  barking,  to  protect  her — but 
he  speedily  changed  his  note  when  he  recognized  Terry 
and  the  mare.  The  colt  whinnied,  the  mare  answered, 
Pete  the  turkey  gobbled,  the  sun-flowers  on  the  sod  roof 
nodded,  the  garden  stuff  certainly  had  grown  a  foot  in 
the  thirty  hours — and  reining  his  mare  at  the  cabin 
door,  Terry  on  a  sudden  was  in  his  mother's  arms. 

"  Oh,  but  I'm  glad  to  see  you!  "  she  exclaimed,  hug- 
ging him.  "  Did  you  get  everything?  " 

"Looks  like  it,  doesn't  it?"  bubbled  Terry.     "I 


150  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

spent  all  our  money  and  slept  in  a  manger,  and  I  met 
old  Thunder  Horse  and  had  to  throw  the  eggs  at  him 
but  they  aren't  worth  much,  anyway,  and  the  man  at 
the  fort  promised  to  take  our  hay  and  potatoes  and  tim- 
ber— every  bit;  and,  ma,  I  think  I  saw  father,  but  he 
didn't  know  me  and  maybe  it  wasn't  he,  and  he's  gone 
on  out  to  the  mountains ;  and  I  brought  a  partner — see  ? 
He  slept  in  the  manger  with  me,  and  he'll  teach  me 
sums  nights  and  help  farm,  days.  Can  he  stay,  ma  ?  " 

After  hearing  such  a  rattle  of  words  Terry's  mother 
gazed  rather  bewildered  upon  Mr.  Revere ;  whereupon 
he  dismounted  from  his  yellow  mule,  and  gallantly  re- 
moved his  dusty  hat. 

"  I  am  Harry  Revere,  madam,"  he  introduced  him- 
self. "  Late  of  Virginia.  Terry  and  I  met  up,  at  Man- 
hattan, and  as  he  had  quite  a  load  I  engaged  to  ride 
along  with  him,  on  his  way,  and  see  what  the  prospects 
are  f o?  a  school,  in  this  section.  I  am  a  school-teacher. 
However,  I  have  no  thought  of  intruding  upon  you; 
and  now  with  Terry  safely  landed,  I  will  ride  on." 

"  No,  indeed  you  won't,  sir,"  protested  Terry's 
mother.  "  You  will  stay  to  dinner,  at  least." 

"  Yes,  and  he'll  stay  all  night  and  sleep  up  in  the  loft 
with  me,  and  he'll  keep  staying  on  maybe  forever; 
won't  he,  mother?"  pleaded  Terry. 

Mr.  Revere  laughed. 

"  Terry  seems  bent  on  making  large  contracts,"  he 
said.  "  But  I  will  stay  to  dinner,  with  pleasure,  and 
thank  you,  madam.  Let's  unpack  our  noble  steeds, 
Terry." 

They  unpacked  the  mare  and  the  mule,  carried  the 


THE  PARTNER  GETS  BUSY    151 

stuff  inside,  and  put  the  animals  in  the  corral,  while 
Mrs.  Richards  bustled  getting  dinner. 

It  was  a  lively  meal,  for  Terry  had  much  to  recount. 
His  mother  agreed  that  he  had  done  very  well — and 
also  that  "Mr.  Jones "  might  have  been  his  father. 
She  was  sure  that  she  would  have  known.  At  any  rate, 
they  could  still  believe  that  he  was  alive,  and  would  re- 
turn to  them.  This  was  some  comfort.  And  she  did 
not  mind  the  loss  of  the  eggs ;  she  thought  that  they  had 
been  used  to  good  purpose,  and  that  Terry  had  been 
smart,  to  defend  himself  so  handily. 

Now,  with  the  fort  ready  to  take  whatever  they  could 
produce,  the  ranch  work  loomed  more  important  than 
ever. 

"If  Mr.  Revere  wishes  to  stay  with  us ," 

ventured  Terry's  mother,  looking  at  the  school  teacher 
for  answer.  "  Until  he  finds  something  better.  We 
can't  pay  him,  but  we  will  share  and  share  alike." 

"  All  I  ask  is  a  share  in  your  home,  Mrs.  Richards." 
And  Terry  thought  that  Mr.  Revere's  eyes  filled  up. 
"  If  you'll  let  me  play  second  fiddle  to  Terry  I'll  milk 
the  cows " 

"  But  we  haven't  any  cow,  yet,"  interrupted  Terry. 

"  Well,  milk  the  chickens,  then ;  and  curry  the  oxen 
and " 

"  Oh,  shucks !  "  cried  Terry.  "  Weren't  you  ever  on 
a  farm  before?" 

"  And  climb  for  potatoes  and  plow  the  pumpkins  and 
hay " 

"Oh,  you're  joking!"  accused  Terry.  "Nobody 
plows  hay!" 


152  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

"  Well,  I  mean  I'm  willing  to  do  anything,  possible 
or  not,"  explained  Mr.  Revere,  "  if  a  home  is  attached 
to  it.  I  haven't  had  a  home  for  some  years,  and  to  me 
a  home  is  the  greatest  prize  on  earth." 

"  There  isn't  any  '  homier '  home  than  this,"  loyally 
asserted  Terry.  "  Except  that  my  father  isn't  here — 
but  he  will  be." 

So  it  was  arranged  that  Mr.  Revere  should  stay,  and 
should  be  one  of  the  family,  until  he  wanted  to  leave. 

"  I  declare,"  sighed  Mrs.  Richards.  "  I'm  as  glad 
as  Terry  is.  We  certainly  need  another  man." 

And  that  was  just  what  Terry  had  said. 

"  Supposing,"  quoth  Mr.  Revere,  after  dinner, 
"that  Terry  shows  me  over  the  farm.  Then  I  can 
know  what  to  do  first,  to  earn  my  keep." 

Eager  to  do  so  was  Terry.  He  proudly  exhibited  the 
spring 

"  Ought  to  clean  that  out,  cover  it  over,  and  lead  it 
down  to  the  house,"  remarked  Mr.  Revere. 

And  the  panther  skin 

"  We'll  have  to  watch  out  for  her  mate,"  remarked 
Mr.  Revere. 

And  the  garden 

"  Needs  a  little  hoeing,  doesn't  it  ?  "  remarked  Mr. 
Revere.  "  The  weeds  might  object  but  the  potatoes 
wouldn't,  and  it's  time  the  things  were  hilled,  most  of 
them." 

And  the  corn  field. 

"  First  class,"  commended  Mr.  Revere. 

And  the  hay  field 

"  That  ought  to  run  two  tons  to  the  acre,"  asserted 


THE  PARTNER  GETS  BUSY     153 

Mr.  Revere.  "You've  got  about  100  acres,  haven't 
you?" 

And  from  a  distance  the  timber  patch 

"There's  where  we  get  our  fence  rails,"  jubilated 
Mr.  Revere.  "Also  shingles.  Did  you  ever  split 
rails?" 

"  You  seem  to  know  a  lot  about  farming,"  hazarded 
Terry,  admiringly. 

"  Just  a  little,"  admitted  the  modest  Mr.  Revere — 
who  did  not  look  at  all  like  a  farmer.  "  I'm  a  school- 
master, but  I  was  raised  on  a  farm." 

"  I  think,"  he  uttered,  reflectively,  as  they  walked 
back  toward  the  house,  "  that  the  first  thing  to  do  is  to 
put  in  some  oats.  We  can  break  that  meadow  next  to 
the  corn.  Had  you  figured  on  oats  ?  " 

"  Not  yet,"  confessed  Terry,  somewhat  aghast  at  the 
prospect  of  more  plowing.  "  You  see,  I  haven't  had 
time." 

"  You'll  need  oats,  for  the  horses ;  and  you  can  sell 
them  to  the  fort,  too ;  and  the  straw  will  come  in  mighty 
handy,  this  winter,  for  bedding  the  animals  and  filling 
your  mother's  ticks.  And  next  we  ought  to  bring  the 
spring  water  down  close  to  the  house,  so  your  mother 
will  have  it  handy." 

"  All  right,"  agreed  Terry. 

They  paused  at  the  corral,  to  stake  the  mare  out,  to 
graze.  The  colt  accompanied  her. 

"  And  after  breaking  the  meadow  and  tending  to  the 
spring,  we  ought  to  break  that  colt,"  resumed  Mr. 
Revere.  "  He's  big  enough  to  help  on  this  ranch — the 
lazy  rascal." 


154  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

That  very  afternoon  Mr.  Revere  set  himself  at  work 
plowing  the  meadow  for  oats.  It  was  high  time  that 
they  were  put  in.  A  sack  of  oats  had  been  brought  out 
along  with  the  other  supplies,  from  Ohio,  so  Terry's 
father  evidently  had  planned  to  plant  some. 

Terry  tackled  the  garden,  with  a  hoe.  George,  with 
Virgie  behind  his  saddle,  rode  over,  during  the  after- 
noon. 

"  Who's  that?  "  he  asked,  pointing  toward  the  plow- 
man. 

"  He's  my  partner,"  answered  Terry,  proudly.  "  His 
name's  Harry  Revere.  He's  from  Virginia,  but  I  met 
him  down  at  Manhattan  and  he's  going  to  stay  and  help 
on  the  ranch  and  teach  me  sums  nights,  because  he's  a 
school  teacher." 

"  Aw,  shucks !  "  derided  George.  "  A  school  teacher ! 
You  stay  here,  Virgie.  I  want  to  see  how  straight  he 
can  plow." 

Off  loped  George.  He  and  Mr.  Revere  talked  to- 
gether for  a  few  minutes ;  then  Mr.  Revere  resumed  his 
plowing  and  George  came  back. 

"  He's  not  very  big,  is  he !  But  he  can  plow.  Those 
furrows  are  as  straight  as  anybody's.  I  guess  he's  all 
right.  He  said  he'd  teach  Virgie  and  me,  too,  any  time 
we  wanted  to  come  over." 

"  Of  course  he's  all  right,"  retorted  Terry. 

"  Did  you  have  any  fun  on  your  trip  ?  We  heard 
you'd  gone." 

"  I  should  say  I  did.  Had  an  egg  fight  with  Thunder 
Horse,  and  ate  with  the  top  sergeant  at  the  fort,  and 
met  some  gold  seekers  going  to  the  mountains  and  one 


THE  PARTNER  GETS  BUSY     155 

of  them  might  be  my  father,  and  slept  all  night  in  a 
manger,  and — but  wait,  I'll  tell  you."  So  he  did. 

George  and  Virgie  were  much  impressed. 

"  You  ought  to  have  rattled  your  rattle  at  Thunder 
Horse,"  advised  George. 

"  He  was  more  afraid  of  eggs  than  he  would  have 
been  of  any  rattle,"  laughed  Terry.  "  But  Mr.  Revere 
heard  the  rattle,  when  we  were  in  the  manger,  and  he 
thought  it  was  a  sure  'nough  snake." 

"Did  it  scare  him?" 

"  Don't  believe  so.  He's  not  the  scary  kind.  You 
ought  to  have  seen  how  he  handled  that  big  bully  at 
Manhattan — Pine  Knot  Ike."  And  Terry  told  that, 
also. 

"  I  guess  he  is  all  right,"  declared  George.  "  Maybe 
we'll  admit  him  into  our  clan.  But  first  he'll  have  to 
kill  a  snake  with  thirteen  rattles." 

Presently  George  and  Virgie  galloped  away,  to  carry 
their  news  home. 

Mr.  Revere  finished  the  plowing  of  the  oat  patch  the 
next  day,  while  Terry  rode  the  drag,  drawn  by  the  yel- 
low mule.  The  five  acres  having  been  cleared,  Mr. 
Revere  harrowed  the  ground,  and  Terry  scattered  the 
oats.  When  these  were  harrowed  in,  the  job  was 
done — and  well  done,  too.  Assuredly,  having  a  part- 
ner made  a  big  difference. 

Terry's  mother  was  relieved  to  have  the  oats  in  at 
last,  but  she  was  more  pleased  when  her  "  two  men  ", 
as  she  called  them,  "  moved  the  spring  "  for  her.  The 
spring  was  located  half  way  up  a  little  rise,  behind  the 
cabin.  First  the  spring  was  cleaned  out,  into  basin 


156  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

shape,  and  lined  with  rocks  and  pebbles  from  the  creek. 
Mr.  Stanton  had  hauled  a  load  of  lumber  from  Man- 
hattan, and  enough  planks  were  borrowed  to  make  a 
trough — Terry  and  Mr.  Revere  engaging  to  trade  labor 
for  them.  Mr.  Revere  cleverly  hollowed  out  a  pithy 
elder  branch,  for  a  spigot,  and  stuck  it  through  the  side 
of  the  barrel.  Then  the  trough,  of  planks  nailed  and 
pegged  together  by  the  edges,  at  right  angles  (with  tin 
covering  their  end  joints)  was  laid  on  sticks  crossed 
scissors  shape  to  lift  it  out  of  the  way  of  the  chickens, 
from  the  spring  basin  to  the  top  of  the  barrel.  It  over- 
flowed through  the  elder-wood  spigot,  so  at  any  time 
Mrs.  Richards  could  set  a  pan  or  pail  under  the  spigot 
and  did  not  have  to  dip. 

The  waste  water  was  carried  by  a  trench  to  the  edge 
of  the  garden,  and  Mr.  Revere  figured  that  in  a  dry 
spell  they  could  flow  the  water  right  into  the  garden! 
Besides,  the  chickens  drank  out  of  the  trench  instead 
of  trying  to  drink  out  of  the  trough. 

Over  the  top  of  the  barrel  was  spread  a  gunny  sack, 
and  Mrs.  Richards  tied  a  piece  of  muslin  across  the 
end  of  the  trough,  to  strain  out  dirt.  It  was  not  a  large 
spring.  The  barrel  remained  just  so  full,  the  water  was 
cold,  and  although  the  trough  leaked  some  until  it 
swelled  tight,  the  new  arrangement  was  voted  to  be 
bully. 

One  queer  thing  was  noted,  later,  about  that  spring. 
It  never  froze,  even  in  the  coldest  weather. 

"  The  next  thing,"  remarked  Mr.  Revere,  at  supper, 
"  we  ought  to  break  that  colt.  He's  old  enough  to  be 
taught  his  manners,  and  how  to  be  useful.  He  just 


THE  PARTNER  GETS  BUSY     157 

laughs,  now,  whenever  he  sees  the  rest  of  us  working." 

"  But  who'll  do  it,  Harry  ?  "  queried  Mrs.  Richards. 

Harry  Revere  thoughtfully  scratched  his  nose. 

"  I'll  try,"  he  said. 

"  But  you  have  that  lame  foot,  you  know,"  reminded 
Mrs.  Richards. 

"  In  Virginia,  Mother  Richards,  ma'am,"  proclaimed 
Mr.  Revere,  "  we  are  taught  to  ride  with  our  legs  and 
not  with  our  feet.  Anyway,  the  colt  has  to  be  broken. 
Then  Terry  can  have  him,  I'll  have  the  mule,  and  you 
can  visit  the  neighbors  on  the  old  mare !  " 

"  Did  you  ever  break  a  colt  ?  "  demanded  Terry. 

"Never  did,"  admitted  Mr.  Revere.  "But  down 
South  when  I  wasn't  more  than  half  your  size  I've 
ridden  them  before  they  were  broken — I  and  the  pick- 
aninnies. We  used  to  run  races." 

In  the  morning,  after  breakfast,  they  were  surveying 
the  colt,  in  the  corral,  preparatory  to  starting  in  on  him, 
when  a  strange  man  rode  up.  He  was  a  leathery- 
complexioned,  long-haired  Mexican,  evidently,  under 
an  enormous  peaked  sombrero ;  wearing  a  gay  cherry- 
colored  shirt,  tight  black  velvet  trousers  slashed  with 
yellow,  and  on  his  heels  spurs  six  inches  in  diameter. 
His  little  pony  was  almost  hidden  by  the  saddle,  and 
the  curb  bit  of  the  jingling  bridle  was  oozing  bloody 
froth. 

But  the  Mexican  sat  easily,  while  his  pony  tossed 
its  tortured  head. 

"  Buenos  dias  ( Good  day) ,  senors,"  he  accosted.  He 
noted  the  colt,  and  the  rope  in  Mr.  Revere's  hand. 
"  Mebbe  you  got  hoss  to  brek;  si?  I  brek  heem." 


158  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

"  Horse  breaker,  are  you  ?  "  replied  Mr.  Revere. 

The  Mexican  flashed  his  white  teeth  in  a  smile. 

"  Si,  si.  One  dollar.  Brek  hoss,  one  dollar.  Any 
hoss,  one  dollar.  My  beez'ness — hoss  buster.  Ride 
ever' where,  brek  hosses." 

"  Better  let  him  do  it,  Harry,"  called  Mrs.  Richards, 
from  the  cabin  doorway. 

"  But  a  dollar's  an  awful  lot  of  money." 

"  But  I'd  rather  pay  it  than  have  you  orTerrry  hurt. 
That  would  be  worse.  He's  a  professional,  he  says,  and 
he'll  know  how." 

"  Humph ! "  murmured  Mr.  Revere,  scratching  his 
nose — a  favorite  habit  when  he  was  ruminating. 

"  I  brek  heem  ?  "  eagerly  invited  the  Mexican. 

"  Go  ahead.    How  long  will  it  take?  " 

"  Not  long.  I  brek  heem  queek.  I  show  heem." 
And  the  Mexican  was  off  his  pony  in  an  instant, 
dropped  his  lines  to  the  ground,  and  began  to  take  down 
his  hair  rope. 

"  What  do  you  calculate  to  do  ?  "  questioned  Mr. 
Revere. 

"  Ketch  heem  with  rope,  throw  down,  tie  hees  eyes, 
put  on  saddle  an'  bridle;  he  run,  I  ride — bueno.  No 
let  heem  quit."  And  coiling  his  hair  rope  over  his 
shoulder,  the  Mexican  began  to  loosen  the  saddle  cinch. 

"  Wait  a  minute,"  bade  Mr.  Revere.  "  You  catch 
him  with  that  rope  by  the  neck  and  choke  him  till  he 
tumbles  over ;  si  ?  " 

"  Si,  si !  "  nodded  the  Mexican. 

"  Then  somebody  sits  on  his  head  while  you  blind- 
fold him." 


THE  PARTNER  GETS  BUSY     159 

"  Si,  senor." 

"  You  put  that  saddle  on  him  and  turn  him  over  and 
strap  it  tight." 

"  Si/' 

"  Going  to  use  that  bit,  are  you?  " 

"  Si.    Fine  bit.    He  get  mad,  'mos'  bust  hees  jaw." 

"  So  you  force  that  bit  into  his  mouth  and  that 
bridle  over  his  head.  Going  to  use  those  spurs,  too  ?  " 

"  Si,  si.  When  he  get  tired,  spur  mek  heem  jump." 
The  saddle  was  stripped  off,  and  off  came  the  bridle. 
Terry  saw  that  the  bit  was  crooked,  in  the  middle, 
with  a  square  '  U ; '  and  that  the  cross-piece  forming 
the  bottom  of  the  '  U  '  was  set  with  a  little  disk ;  when 
the  bridle  lines  were  pulled,  this  '  U '  turned  bottom 
up,  and  forced  the  horse's  jaws  open  while  the  disk 
cut  into  the  roof  of  his  mouth. 

"  Not  by  a  long  shot ! "  suddenly  exclaimed  Mr. 
Revere.  "  First  you  frighten  the  animal  out  of  all 
his  senses,  while  he's  helpless,  then  when  he  resists  you 
torture  him  till  he  drops.  That  '  breaks '  him — and 
I  don't  wonder.  No,  sir;  we'll  tend  to  this  colt  our- 
selves." 

"  Oh,  I'd  rather  have  him  never  touched  at  all,  than 
broken  that  way,"  voiced  Terry's  mother.  "  When  I 
said  I'd  pay,  I'd  no  idea !  " 

Terry  had  viewed  the  preparations  aghast.  The 
cruel  bit  and  spurs  rather  took  the  breath  out  of  him. 
The  Mexican,  who  had  understood  only  that  objec- 
tions were  being  made,  stared  puzzled.  Mr.  Revere, 
his  rope  in  his  hand,  promptly  entered  the  corral. 

"We'll  break  the  colt  to  be  useful,"  he  declared; 


160  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

"  but  we  won't  break  his  heart.  We'll  make  a  horse 
of  him,  not  a  machine." 

"  Don't  you  need  a  saddle  and  bridle,  Harry?  "  called 
Mrs.  Richards. 

"  Not  yet.  How'd  you  like  to  wake  up  with  a 
saddle  strapped  'round  you  and  a  bridle  on  your  face  ?  " 
challenged  Mr.  Revere. 

He  limped  straight  to  the  colt,  who  pricked  his 
ears  and  sidled  about  his  interested  mother.  But  he 
was  a  tame  colt,  and  accustomed  to  petting.  Mr. 
Revere  spoke  soothingly  to  him,  patted  his  flank,  and 
slowly  slipped  a  hand  along  until  it  smoothed  the  colt's 
velvety  nose.  Gently,  gently,  he  changed  the  rope 
noose  to  that  hand,  opened  it  on  his  arm,  and  with  even 
movement  transferred  it  to  the  colt's  neck. 

"  Come  on,  boy,"  he  bade,  with  a  final  pat ;  and  in 
matter-of-fact  way  led  the  colt  about  the  corral.  The 
colt  pulled  and  danced  a  little,  but  he  followed ;  when- 
ever he  did  pull,  Mr.  Revere  yielded,  and  waited, 
coaxing  him. 

"Open  the  bars,  Terry,"  ordered  Mr.  Revere. 
"  And  stand  aside,  everybody." 

He  succeeded  in  coaxing  the  colt  out,  while  the 
mother  whinnied  anxiously. 

"  We'll  be  back,  old  lady,"  assured  Mr.  Revere. 


CHAPTER  X 

HARRY  RIDES  THE  COLT 

HARRY  spent  several  minutes  experimenting,  strok- 
ing the  colt  on  the  nose,  and  patting  his  shoulders  and 
side,  until  the  colt,  although  trembling  and  suspicious, 
suffered  an  arm  to  be  laid  across  his  back. 

Harry  leaned  harder,  and  slowly  left  the  ground. 
On  a  sudden  he  was  aboard.  Terry  held  his  breath, 
his  mother  uttered  a  little  exclamation  of  anxiety,  the 
Mexican,  stock-still,  gazed  curiously — the  colt  shrank, 
under  the  weight,  snorted,  and  while  Mr.  Revere  spoke 
and  patted  his  neck,  sprang,  bulging-eyed.  He  was 
away,  veering  and  running ;  and  riding  like  an  Indian, 
Mr.  Revere  sat  tight  and  let  him  go. 

"  Bueno,  bueno !  "  cheered  the  Mexican,  excited. 

"He'll  fall  off!  He'll  be  hurt!"  cried  Terry's 
mother.  "  Why  did  he  do  it?  " 

"  No,  he  won't,"  hopefully  answered  Terry ;  but  he 
had  some  doubts,  himself. 

However,  Harry  had  not  fallen  off,  yet.  Sitting 
bareback,  with  nothing,  not  even  a  bridle,  to  hold  on 
by,  except  his  legs,  he  clung  fast,  his  hair  streaming, 
his  body  yielding  to  every  lunge  of  the  colt.  It  was  a 
great  sight. 

161 


162  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

Out  through  the  oat  patch  dashed  the  colt,  through 
the  corn,  and  almost  to  the  creek.  He  turned,  and 
sped  back.  His  rider  could  be  heard  talking  to  him. 

"  Whoa,  boy!    Steady,  now." 

The  rope  hung  lax,  so  that  he  ran  free.  Past  the 
corral  they  flashed,  on  another  circuit.  Mr.  Revere's 
face  was  flushed  by  the  breeze,  and  he  had  time  merely 
to  wave  his  hand  reassuringly.  But  how  he  could 
ride!  Returning  again,  the  colt  was  running  less 
frenziedly;  he  showed  a  disposition  to  slacken,  at  the 
corral — and  Harry,  with  a  shake  of  the  rope,  urged 
him  on. 

"  He's  finding  out  who's  master,"  called  Harry. 
"  I  can  guide  him  a  little — "  and  actually  did. 

The  colt  shook  his  head,  but  coursed  along. 

Now  a  new  voice  chimed  in. 

"Bravo!    There's  a  rider !" 

It  was  the  voice  of  Sol  Judy,  the  Californian,  who 
had  arrived  here  in  the  midst  of  events  and  was  sitting 
his  horse,  watching. 

"  What  man's  that?  "  asked  Sol. 

"  He's  Harry  Revere,  my  partner,"  explained  Terry, 
proudly.  "  He's  breaking  the  colt." 

"  He  is,  is  he  ?  That  his  business  ?  You've  got 
another  buster  here.  Hello,  Manuel?"  And  Mr. 
Judy  nodded  to  the  Mexican. 

"  No,  sir ;  he's  a  school  teacher." 

"  School  master !  "  And  Mr.  Judy  laughed  loudly. 
"  Well,  if  he  can  educate  boys  like  he  can  horses  he 
must  be  a  humdinger.  He's  a  regular  vaquero;  eh, 
Manuel?" 


HARRY  RIDES  THE  COLT  163 

"  Bueno !  Si,  si,"  agreed  the  Mexican,  watching 
fascinated. 

The  colt  was  coming  back  at  a  canter,  as  if  willing 
to  quit.  His  hide  was  wet  with  sweat.  At  a  slight 
tug  of  the  rope,  stop  he  did,  before  the  little  group; 
and  from  his  back  Mr.  Revere  grinned  cheerfully.  The 
colt  cautiously  turned  his  head  and  sniffed  at  his  rider's 
leg,  as  if  wondering  what  kind  of  a  thing  this  was, 
on  his  back.  Mr.  Revere  reached  forward  to  pat  his 
nose. 

"  Whoa,  boy.  You* re  all  right.  Want  to  ride  him, 
Terry?"  he  asked. 

"  I'd  just  as  lief,"  asserted  Terry. 

"  No,  not  yet,  Terry,"  pleaded  his  mother. 

"  Wait.  I'd  show  you  how  gentle  this  colt  is,  now 
he  isn't  frightened."  Harry  kicked  off  his  shoes. 
"  Gwan,  colt,"  he  ordered,  gaily,  with  slap  of  the  rope. 

"  Look,  look !  "  gasped  Terry's  mother ;  for  as  the 
colt  rebelliously  loped  along,  Harry  had  risen  upright 
and  was  standing  like  a  circus  rider. 

Yes,  there  he  was,  standing  straight  and  balancing 
easily,  in  spite  of  his  lame  foot.  Back  he  came — but 
at  a  sudden  turn  of  the  colt  he  had  to  sit  down.  No ! 
Look! 

"  For  mercy-sakes-alive ! "  ejaculated  Terry's 
mother. 

Harry  was  standing  on  his  hands,  his  feet  in  the 
air.  Just  as  the  colt  arrived,  Harry  flopped  off  and 
landed  on  the  ground,  where,  holding  the  colt,  he  bowed 
and  panted. 

"  Bueno,  bueno !  "  cheered  the  Mexican.  "  You 
vaquero,  hey?" 


164  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

"  Whoopee ! "  yelped  Sol  Judy,  as  if  enthused. 
"  Gimme  room."  He  spurred  his  horse — at  a  mad, 
tearing  gallop  he,  too,  stood  in  the  saddle.  Plumping 
down  again,  he  swerved  his  horse  in  figures  of  eight 
— sprang  off — bounding  beside,  vaulted  on  again; 
dropped  his  handkerchief,  and  bending  low  as  he  re- 
passed  at  top  speed,  hung  far  and  cleverly  picked  it  up ; 
fumbled  at  the  saddle — uncinched  it — let  it  slide  from 
beneath  him — removed  the  bridle,  too — dropped  his 
boots  and  (all  at  top  speed)  leaping  to  earth,  holding 
his  horse  only  by  the  lariat  ran  after  like  a  deer  and  at 
a  spring  was  on  his  back.  He  stood,  turned  about,  and 
came  riding  with  his  face  to  the  rear. 

As  he  jumped  off  they  all  clapped  and  cheered. 

"  You  didn't  stand  on  your  hands,  though,"  re- 
minded Terry. 

"  No,"  laughed  Sol.  "  Never  tried  that.  Can't  stand 
on  'em  on  the  ground.  But  where'd  you  learn  to  ride, 
stranger?  "  he  queried  of  Mr.  Revere. 

"  Oh,  I  was  brought  up  with  horses,  down  in  Vir- 
ginia," replied  Harry. 

"  You're  a  humdinger,"  praised  Sol. 

"  Oh,  anybody  who  can  ride  that  yellow  mule  of 
mine  can  ride  an  easy-gaited  colt,"  laughed  Harry. 
"  But  you're  somewhat  of  a  humdinger,  yourself." 

After  being  well  petted,  all  around,  and  given  a  lick 
of  sugar  by  Mrs.  Richards,  the  colt  was  turned  out  to 
pasture  with  his  anxious  mother.  Manuel  the  Mexi- 
can horse-breaker  saddled  up  and  rode  off,  in  his  gay 
shirt,  on  his  chafing  pony,  for  whom  Terry  felt  sorry. 


HARRY  RIDES  THE  COLT  165 

"  I  came  past,  ma'am,"  announced  Sol,  to  Mrs. 
Richards,  "  to  see  how  you're  getting  along,  and  to 
say  that  in  my  opinion  your  husband  is  alive  and  ac- 
tive, and  has  traveled  on  west  for  the  mountains  with  a 
party  of  gold  seekers." 

"  I  met  him !  "  exclaimed  Terry. 

Sol  listened  attentively  to  the  story. 

"  That's  the  man,  I  reckon,"  he  nodded.  "  By  name 
of  Jones.  There  was  a  man  with  a  bad  knock  on  the 
head  picked  up  by  some  freighters  and  taken  on  east 
up  the  trail,  over  a  month  ago.  Teared  confused  like; 
but  he  seemed  to  get  well,  and,  far  as  I  can  make  out, 
he  joined  in  with  the  Green  Russell  party  for  the 
mountains.  But  they've  got  too  big  a  start  to  be 
overhauled  now." 

"  He'll  come  back,"  asserted  Terry's  mother,  just 
as  she  always  said. 

"  He  will,  ma'am,"  encouraged  Sol.  "  Some  day 
he'll  wake  up  and  know  who  he  is.  It's  a  wild-goose 
chase,  anyhow.  I  look  to  see  'em  all  back  before  winter 
— or  next  spring,  at  the  latest." 

Sol  Judy  rode  away.  The  work  on  the  ranch  con- 
tinued. The  corn  and  the  garden  were  coming  on 
finely,  and  soon  the  oat  patch  was  green  with  the 
myriad  spears.  The  chickens  and  Pete  the  tamed 
turkey  thrived  on  the  innumerable  bugs  and  worms 
and  seeds.  Spot  and  Buck,  the  oxen,  grew  fat  and 
rather  lazy,  for  with  the  mare  and  the  yellow  mule 
to  help  with  the  work,  they  had  an  easy-going  time. 

As  for  the  colt,  he  took  readily  to  saddle  and  bridle, 
gently  applied;  and  Terry  made  no  bones  of  mount- 


i66  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

ing  him — rode  him  down  to  George's,  and  every- 
where. 

These  were  busy  days.  There  seemed  to  be  no 
chance  of  starting  a  school  among  the  valley  settlers, 
while  the  crops  were  coming  on,  and  Terry  was  glad 
of  it.  He  needed  his  partner.  But  evenings,  Mrs. 
Richards  brought  out  the  blue-backed  Webster's  spell- 
ing-book, or  Harry  brought  out  the  arithmetic  or 
geography  that  he  had  used  at  college,  and  they  held 
a  little  school  of  their  own.  George  came  over,  when- 
ever he  could,  to  join  in.  And  on  Sundays  nobody 
worked,  except  to  do  the  regular  chores.  Some  chap- 
ters in  the  Bible  were  read  aloud  by  Terry's  mother  or 
by  Harry ;  the  Stantons  came  over  to  the  Richards'  or 
the  Richards  went  over  to  the  Stantons';  and  Terry 
and  Harry  usually  walked  down  to  the  timber  along 
the  creek. 

The  timber  and  the  creek  made  about  the  best  place 
on  the  ranch,  except,  of  course,  the  cabin.  Harry 
estimated  that  the  timber  crop,  for  fuel  and  rails  and 
lumber,  was  the  most  valuable  crop  that  the  ranch  had. 
There  were  lots  of  fruit,  too,  growing  wild:  walnuts, 
hickory  nuts  (these  would  not  ripen  before  fall,  of 
course),  plums,  mulberries,  may-apples  (that  grew 
on  carroty  roots,  in  the  shade),  strawberries  (in  the 
open  places),  raspberries,  and  gooseberries  which 
would  be  fine  for  jam. 

Besides,  there  was  the  creek  itself,  where  a  fellow 
could  take  a  swim  after  supper,  summer  evenings,  to  get 
cooled  off  and  cleaned  up ;  there  were  the  turkeys,  in- 
cluding several  coveys  of  baby  ones,  and  deer — or  at 


HARRY  RIDES  THE  COLT  167 

least  plenty  of  tracks;  maybe  the  he-panther,  mate  to 
the  skin  on  the  cabin  wall;  and  the  bee  tree. 

The  bee  tree  was  discovered  in  this  wise — on  a  Sun- 
day afternoon  when  George  was  over  and  he  and 
Terry  and  Harry  Revere  were  taking  a  walk  down 
toward  the  timber.  'Twas  odd,  too,  that  this  very 
morning  the  chapters  from  the  Bible  had  included  one 
about  a  land  of  "  milk  and  honey." 

"  Wish  we  had  some,  don't  you,  ma?  "  had  appealed 
Terry,  smacking  his  lips. 

"  I  wish  we  had  the  milk,  anyway,"  had  admitted 
his  mother.  "  That's  the  hardest  thing  to  do  without 
— that  and  butter.  But  if  we  could  get  a  cow,  we'd 
have  both." 

A  little  milk  could  be  obtained  from  the  Stantons, 
and  a  little  butter ;  but  not  nearly  enough,  and  Terry 
fully  agreed  that  to  do  without  was  a  real  trial. 

Harry  scratched  his  nose. 

"  I  don't  see  any  cow,  just  now,"  he  confesse'd. 
"  There's  honey,  though." 

"Where?" 

"  All  around." 

"Aw,  in  the  flowers!"  scoffed  Terry.  "But  we 
aren't  bees;  we  can't  suck  it  out." 

"  No,"  mused  Harry.  "  I  guess  we'll  have  to  do  a 
little  trading." 

What  he  meant  he  did  not  say.  However,  on  the 
afternoon  walk  he  appeared  unusually  thoughtful.  He 
paused  on  the  edge  of  the  cornfield,  where  the  corn 
was  tasseling.  A  myriad  of  bees  were  busy  gathering 
pollen. 


i68  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

"Bees,"  he  addressed,  "where  are  you-all  going 
with  our  pollen  and  our  honey." 

"  The  flowers  were  here  first,  before  we  were," 
corrected  George. 

"  But  the  corn  wasn't,"  argued  Harry.  "  And  on 
this  ranch  we  all  work  together.  What  I  want  to  know, 
is,  where  these  bees  are  going." 

The  bees  arrived  with  a  rush ;  they  clawed  about,  on 
the  tassels,  filling  their  leg  pouches  with  the  yellow 
pollen — then  they  let  go  and  sometimes  almost  turn- 
ing a  somersault  in  their  eagerness  buzzed  away  like 
golden  bullets  on  the  back  trail. 

"  They're  all  going  yonder,"  declared  Terry.  "  See  ? 
Off  toward  the  timber." 

"  So  are  we,  then,"  announced  Harry.  "  Come  on, 
and  keep  your  eyes  on  the  bees."  He  limped  for  the 
timber. 

"  What  is  it  ?  A  bee  tree  ?  "  queried  George,  as  with 
Terry  and  Shep,  both  mystified,  he  followed. 

"  Hope  so.  All  that  honey  and  pollen  is  being 
stored  somewhere,  isn't  it?" 

"  But,  shucks !  "  scoffed  George.  "  There  are  about 
a  thousand  trees.  We  can't  follow  all  these  bees,  can 
we  ?  They'll  mix  us  up.  The  way  the  bee-hunters  do 
in  Indiana  is  to  catch  a  bee  and  feed  him  honey,  and 
paint  him  and  tie  a  white  rag  to  his  leg  and  then  follow 
him;  and  when  he  gets  away,  catch  another." 

"All  right,"  said  Harry.  "You  catch  a  bee  and 
tie  your  handkerchief  to  his  leg — or  tie  a  long  thread 
to  it  and  hold  the  other  end." 

"  No,  sir-ee !  "  objected  George. 


HARRY  RIDES  THE  COLT  169 

They  met  many  bees,  winging  swiftly  close  over 
their  heads,  making  for  the  corn ;  and  as  many  passed 
them,  in  the  opposite  direction.  Terry  noted  that 
the  bees  on  the  flowers,  also,  having  finished  loading 
with  honey  and  pollen  rose  abruptly  and  launched 
for  the  timber. 

But  at  the  timber  edge  the  bees  were  still  going  in 
and  coming  out.  Harry  paused,  and  surveyed  the 
trees  and  scratched  his  nose. 

"  We'd  better  separate,  I  think.  One  of  you  on 
the  right,  and  one  on  the  left;  and  I'll  stay  in  the 
middle.  When  any  of  us  get  to  where  the  bees  with 
the  honey  are  coming  toward  us,  we'll  know  we've 
passed  the  home.  And  when  they're  making  off  kitty- 
corner  instead  of  straight  away,  we'll  know  their 
home  is  at  one  side.  So  we'll  have  to  change  direc- 
tion, too.  Understand  ?  " 

"  Sure,"  assented  George.    "  Just  keep  tracking  *em." 

"  And  when  you  find  the  center,  where  all  the  bees 
come  together,  listen  hard  and  look  sharp,  and  yell 
to  the  rest  of  us." 

George  took  the  right,  Terry  took  the  left — and  so, 
of  course,  did  Shep.  Pretty  soon  they  lost  sight  of 
one  another,  in  the  brush  and  trees. 

Terry  proceeded  cautiously.  Very  pleasant  was  it, 
here  in  the  fragrant,  warm  timber  flecked  by  sun  and 
shade.  The  majority  of  the  flowering  trees  had 
dropped  their  petals  and  were  showing  fruit;  but  sun 
and  shade  alike  proffered  a  succession  of  flowers  on  the 
shrubs  and  plants,  and  the  bees  had  abundant  forage. 


170  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

Terry  kept  his  eyes  on  the  bees,  when  they  lighted 
and  rose  again. 

He  had  proceeded  only  a  short  distance,  when  it 
seemed  to  him  that  the  bees  were  changing  direction 
— just  as  Harry  had  suggested  that  they  might.  He 
stopped.  Yes,  sir !  Watch  that  patch  of  blue  flowers, 
and  you  see  most  of  the  bees  coming  in  sort  of  from 
the  right,  and  lighting,  and  clawing,  and  darting  off 
to  the  right.  They  disappeared  mighty  quick,  in  the 
trees,  but  that  is  where  they  went. 

So  Terry — followed  by  Shep,  much  puzzled  but  will- 
ing to  help — turned  to  the  right,  himself. 

The  bees  led  him  in  a  half  circle,  as  he  was  tempted 
more  and  more  to  the  right.  They  were  tantalizing 
things.  They  never  met  him  when  they  were  loaded; 
they  always  were  lighting,  clawing,  and  flying  away 
again.  And  suddenly  he  found  himself  staring  hard 
at  the  same  patch  of  blue  flowers.  The  very  same 
patch !  He  recognized  it  by  that  log  with  the  big  yellow 
fungus  growing  on  the  dead  bark.  Humph !  He  had 
made  a  whole  circle.  Shep  gazed  up  at  him  inquiringly, 
as  if  to  ask:  "  Well,  what  next?  What  you  looking 
for  now  ?  " 

But  instantly  Terry  knew.  The  bees  were  still 
swerving,  laden,  to  the  right;  always  to  the  right — : 
and  their  home  was  somewhere  inside  that  circle ! 

He  cut  in,  peering,  listening,  eyes  and  ears  wide  open, 
and  Shep,  imitating  him,  sneaked  along  behind,  to 
back  him  up  in  this  mysterious  hunt.  The  bees  began 
to  be  more  and  more  difficult  to  mark.  They  landed 
like  bullets  dropping,  and  rose  like  rockets — straight 
up.  Terry  heard  a  vague  humming,  and  craned  his 


HARRY  RIDES  THE  COLT  171 

neck.  The  bees  were  darting  every  which  way — the 
leafy  branches  were  full  of  them,  high  above  his  head. 
He  circled  around  and  around,  stumbling  on  the  brush ; 
and  Shep,  evidently  expectant  of  a  squirrel,  continued 
to  imitate  him. 

"  I  see  it !  "  exclaimed  Terry.    "  Hurrah ! " 

It  was  fat  burr-oak  tree,  the  spreading  branches 
alive  with  the  bees  arriving  from  all  directions.  Face 
up-turned,  he  trod  around  and  around  it,  like  a  squir- 
rel hunter  indeed.  He  heard  a  confusing  drone — and 
when  he  stumbled  against  the  trunk,  and  his  cheek 
brushed  it,  the  drone  was  louder.  He  pressed  his  ear 
to  the  rough  bark;  the  trunk  fairly  vibrated,  from 
within.  He  kicked  it,  and  thought  it  sounded  hollow. 
There  were  bees  inside,  at  any  rate.  And  presently, 
as  he  circled  and  peered,  he  saw  them  passing  in  and 
out  of  a  hole,  at  least  twenty  feet  aloft.  A  regular 
stream  of  them!  He  had  found  a  bee  tree! 

"  Whoo-ee !  "  sang  Terry,  excited.     "  Whoo-ee !  " 

"  Whoo-ee ! "  came  the  answer.  "  Where  are 
you?" 

"Right  here.    I  found  it!" 

"  You  did !  "  George  crashed  through  the  brush, 
and  appeared,  hurrying.  "  Where  is  it  ?  " 

"This  big  oak.    Hear 'em?    See 'em?" 

"  I  should  say ! "  gasped  George,  hot  and  wet. 
pl  I'd  have  found  it,  too.  I've  been  right  on  the  trail, 
making  this  way.  Now  we'll  have  to  get  axes  and 
cut  it  down." 

"Won't  they  sting  us?" 

"  Not  much,  if  we  smoke  'em  first.    Build  a  fire  of 


172  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

rotten  wood  and  chop  a  hole  below  'em  and  send  the 
smoke  up  through." 

"  Supposing  we  can't  find  a  hole  low  enough." 

"  Chop  the  tree  down  anyway,  I  guess/'  hazarded 
George.  "Then  make  a  smudge,  and  fight  with 
branches  and  things,  till  the  bees  quit." 

The  job  did  not  look  very  inviting ;  already  the  bees 
were  taking  offense,  as  if  understanding  the  danger 
to  their  store.  Shep  dropped  his  tail,  in  alarm. 

"  We  can't  do  it  to-day,  anyhow,"  said  Terry.  "  It's 
Sunday." 

"Shucks!"  uttered  George,  realizing.  "That's 
so."  And  he  added :  "  Listen !  Harry's  calling. 

They  answered.  Harry  answered.  Shep  pricked 
his  ears. 

"  He  isn't  coming.  Guess  he  wants  us.  Come  on. 
We'll  remember  where  the  tree  is."  And  Terry  hustled 
away,  with  George  regretfully  following. 

Harry  was  standing  on  the  edge  of  a  little  bay  or 
open  clearing,  of  the  timber  edge,  which  faced  the 
direction  of  the  cabin. 

"  We  found  it,"  cried  Terry. 

"  Terry  found  it,  but  I've  seen  it,"  corrected  George. 
"  It's  a  big  oak." 

"How  high  are  they?" 

"  'Way  up." 

"We'll  have  to  cut  it  down,  then,  sometime.  I'll 
look  at  it  to-morrow.  Now  let's  go  back  to  the  house. 
We've  got  company ;  see  ?  " 

They  looked.    Several  horses  were  standing  at  the 


HARRY  RIDES  THE  COLT 


'73 


cabin  door;  so  were  several  men,  and  Mrs.  Richards 
was  talking  with  them. 

"  Injuns !  "  exclaimed  George.  "  Bet  they're  Del- 
a wares ! " 

"That's  right,"  agreed  Terry.  "Hope  General 
Jackson's  with  'em." 

"  That  means  something  to  eat,"  declared  Harry. 
"We'd  better  be  on  hand.  The  bee-tree  will  wait 
but  maybe  those  callers  won't." 

He  went  leaping  across  the  creek  on  a  series  of  step- 
ping-stones, in  a  short-cut,  and  they  all  hastened  for 
the  cabin. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

HUNTING  WITH  THE  DELA WARES 

THE  Delawares  they  were — three  of  them :  General 
Jackson,  and  Black  Beaver  the  hunter,  and  another. 
Their  ponies  were  standing  with  hide  ropes  dragging, 
to  catch  them  by  should  they  wander,  and  the  Indians 
themselves,  draped  in  buffalo  robes,  had  squatted  in 
a  half  circle,  at  the  cabin  door,  while  Terry's  mother, 
considerably  flustrated,  was  trying  to  talk  with  them. 
She  acted  much  relieved,  as  if  glad  to  have  help,  when 
Harry  and  George  and  Terry  arrived. 

General  Jackson  rose,  and  gravely  extended  his 
hand. 

"  How-do  ?  "  he  greeted,  to  Terry.  He  shook  hands 
all  around,  and  so  did  the  two  others. 

"  Bring  'um,"  vouchsafed  General  Jackson,  holding 
out  to  Terry  the  necklace — the  necklace  of  the  panther 
claws  sewed  into  a  strip  of  deer  hide.  "  Wear  'um. 
Heap  hunter." 

"Is  that  yours?"  exclaimed  George.  "Jitniny! 
Look  at  it!  Panther  claws." 

"  I  guess  so,"  answered  Terry,  now  flustrated,  him- 
self. "But  I  don't  know.  Is  it?"  he  asked,  doubt- 
fully, of  General  Jackson.  "  Mine  ?  How  much  ?  " 

"Um,"  grunted  General  Jackson.  "Keep.  Kill 
'urn  panther,  wear  'um  claws." 

174 


HUNTING  WITH  THE  DELAWARES     175 

"  Thanks ;  heap  thanks,"  responded  Terry.  He 
slipped  the  necklace  over  his  head  (for  the  circle  was 
fully  large  enough)  and  it  hung  low  on  his  chest.  The 
points  of  the  sharp  claws,  in  a  row  like  a  fringe,  curv- 
ing in  against  his  shirt,  threatened  to  scratch  through, 
but  not  for  the  world  would  he  have  told  anybody. 

"  That's  certainly  a  fine  piece  of  work,"  praised 
Harry.  "Wonder  how  they  stitched  those  claws  in, 
just  at  the  ends,  that  way." 

"  Squaw,"  grunted  General  Jackson.  "  Now  go  'urn 
hunt,"  he  said,  to  Terry.  "  Want  'urn  go?  " 

A  hunt!  General  Jackson  was  armed  with  a  good 
rifle,  so  was  Black  Beaver,  and  the  third  Indian  had 
a  smooth-bore  musket  or  yager.  They  looked  as  if 
they  were  ready  to  start. 

"Where?"  asked  Terry,  eagerly. 

General  Jackson  swung  his  arm  in  gesture  to  the 
west. 

"  Kill  'um  deers,  kill  'urn  buffs,  kill  'urn  heap  meat. 
Me  go,  Black  Beaver  he  go,  John  Bushman  (and  he  in- 
dicated the  third  Delaware,  who  seemed  to  be  only  a 
little  younger  than  Black  Beaver),  he  go.  You  go? 
Odder  boy,  he  go?" 

"  I'd  like  to,"  asserted  George,  his  black  eyes  spark- 
ling. His  face  fell.  "  But  I  don't  believe  I  can.  Got 
to  take  some  butter  to  town.  And  take  Virgie,  too. 
I  promised  her." 

"  Can  I  go,  ma  ?  Mother,  can  I  go  ?  "  appealed 
Terry.  "  I'll  get  us  some  meat :  deer,  buffalo,  heap 
meat,  General  Jackson  says !  " 

"  Why—,"  faltered  his  mother.    "  There's  so  much 


176  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

work,  Terry.  I  don't  see  how  we  can  spare  you.  I 
thought  you  and  Harry  were  to  build  fences." 

"  We  can  spare  him,"  put  in  Harry.  "  That  is,  I 
can  if  you  can.  The  fences  can  wait  till  fall.  I  doubt 
if  we  could  get  at  them  before,  anyway.  I  can  manage 
the  rest  of  the  work.  It's  time  he  had  a  few  days  off, 
don't  you  think?" 

Good  for  Harry! 

"  How  long  will  you  be  gone  ? "  asked  Terry's 
mother,  of  General  Jackson — and  she  still  was  a  little 
dubious. 

"  Mebbe  two  day,  mebbe  three  day.  Kill  'urn  meat. 
Come  back.  No  fear." 

"  We's  'speck  'um  three  day,  mebbe,"  spoke  John 
Bushman,  in  guttural  tone.  "  Boy  no  hurt." 

"  But  supposing  you  meet  wild  Indians ! "  gasped 
Terry's  mother. 

"  Kill  'urn.  Take  scalp,"  grunted  John  Bushman. 
"  We  no  'fraid.  One  Delaware  he  whip  ten  Cheyenne ; 
Kiowa  too.  Bah!" 

"  Oh!  "  gasped  Terry's  mother. 

"I'll  bring  meat  and  scalps  both,  ma,"  cheered 
Terry.  "  I'll  take  dad's  gun  and  the  colt." 

"  Fetch  'um  dog,"  ordered  General  Jackson,  point- 
ing at  Shep.  "  Delaware  scalp  'um  Cheyenne ;  dog 
bite  'um  Kiowa.  Huh!" 

"  But  we'll  need  Shep  to  protect  us  here,"  retorted 
Terry's  mother.  "  When  do  you  start  ?  " 

Hurrah!    She  was  yielding. 

"  Start  'um  now." 

"  Not  on  Sunday,"  declared  Terry's  mother,  firmly. 


HUNTING  WITH  THE  DELAWARES     177 

"White  boys  do  not  hunt  on  Sunday.  They  rest;  no 
play,  little  work.  Understand  ?  He  can  go  to-morrow, 
but  not  to-day." 

"  Humph !  "  grunted  General  Jackson.  "  Clistchun 
(by  which  he  meant  Christian,  evidently) .  White  man 
make  medicine  one  day,  'um  last  he  six  day.  Injun 
make  medicine  every  day." 

He  and  the  two  other  Delawares  talked  together 
briefly,  in  their  own  tongue. 

"  All  right,"  said  General  Jackson.  "  Mebbe  stay. 
Black  Beaver,  he  say  mebbe  stay,  mebbe  big  eat  'um, 
hunt  to-morrow.  White  boy  make  medicine  to-day  for 
hunt;  to-morrow  go,  kill  'urn  heap  deers,  heap  buffs. 
Huh!" 

"  Big  eats,  remember,  Mother  Richards,"  laughed 
Harry.  "  That  means  sugared  coffee  for  supper." 

"  I'll  do  the  best  I  can,"  she  promised.  "  But  you 
boys  can't  have  any.  Once  in  a  while  for  us  is  all 
we  can  afford." 

"I'd  rather  have  milk,  anyway;  wouldn't  you?" 
asserted  George,  to  Terry. 

"  Soon  as  we  get  a  cow." 

"  You  can  bring  a  buffalo  home,  and  milk  it !  Wish 
I  was  going." 

"  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it,"  engaged  Terry,  excited. 
"  Next  time  we'll  both  go.  We  can  go  off  by  our- 
selves, when  I've  learned  how.  We  found  a  bee  tree, 
mother!  Down  in  the  timber.  A  great  big  tree, 
chock  full  of  honey.  Don't  you  cut  it  down  till  I  come 
back,  Harry;  will  you?  " 

"  Not  a  twig.    The  longer  we  wait  the  more  honey 


178  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

there'll  be.  The  bees  will  keep  piling  it  in,  all  summer; 
see?" 

"Wonder  if  I've  got  enough  powder  and  shot," 
planned  Terry,  busily.  "  I  can  ride  the  colt,  can't  I. 
Heap  colt,"  he  informed,  to  General  Jackson.  "  Run 
fast,  catch  'um  buffalo;  bang! " 

"  Good,"  grunted  General  Jackson,  gravely. 

"Don't  be  in  a  hurry,  now,  Terry,"  cautioned  his 
mother.  "  It's  still  Sunday,  you  know." 

"  After  the  sun  sets  I  can  look  at  the  gun,  can't  I  ?  " 
pleaded  Terry. 

"  Perhaps,"  she  smiled. 

Presently  George  was  obliged  to  leave,  to  do  his 
chores  at  home.  He  went  regretfully,  but  he  was 
certain  that  he'd  have  to  take  the  butter  down  to 
Manhattan,  instead  of  going  hunting. 

The  three  Delawares  had  again  squatted  solemnly  in 
a  row  against  the  side  of  the  cabin,  their  robes  pulled 
up  around  their  necks,  and  apparently  were  expecting 
the  "  big  eat  'um." 

After  supping  heartily  on  biscuits  and  coffee  with 
plenty  of  sugar  in  it,  the  Delawares  slept  outside, 
rolled  in  their  buffalo  robes.  Terry  turned  in  early, 
himself,  to  be  ready  for  an  early  start  in  the  morning. 
He  was  on  his  colt,  at  sun-up,  equipped  with  a  blanket, 
and  shot-gun  and  powder-flask  and  a  pouch  of  buck- 
shot, prepared  to  ride,  when  General  Jackson  grunted : 

"Huh!    Take 'um  dog." 

"He's  to  stay  here,"  answered  Terry.  "They'll 
need  him.  Big  watch  'um ;  see  ?  " 

"  Take  'um  dog,"  insisted  General  Jackson.  "  Ketch 
'um  buff,  bite  'um  Injun.  Heap  dog0  Humph !  " 


HUNTING  WITH  THE  DELAWARES     179 

"  Shall  I  ?  "  queried  Terry,  of  his  mother  and  Harry, 
who  were  standing  by  to  wish  good  luck. 

"  It  looks  as  though  you'd  have  to,  dear,"  and  she 
laughed  a  little  ruefully.  "  Anyway,  I'll  feel  safer 
about  you  if  Shep's  along.  And  he  wants  to  go." 

"  Come  on,  Shep,  old  boy,"  invited  Terry ;  and  at 
the  summons  Shep,  who  had  been  gazing  with  ears 
pricked,  sprang  forward,  barking  and  capering.  He'd 
enjoy  a  hunt  as  much  as  the  rest.  In  fact,  he  didn't 
care  where  he  was  going,  if  only  he  went. 

Black  Beaver  led  off.  General  Jackson  followed, 
Terry  rode  next,  and  John  Bushman  brought  up  the 
rear.  Shep  raced  from  side  to  side,  routing  out  the 
jack-rabbits  and  charging  the  prairie  dogs.  His  hunt- 
ing began  at  once. 

The  Delawares  kept  their  buffalo  robes  high  around 
their  necks,  and  the  single  file  proceeded  at  a  smart 
trot,  with  never  a  word  spoken.  Almost  straight  west 
proceeded  Black  Beaver,  for  the  ridge  of  hills  dividing 
the  Valley  of  the  Blue  from  the  Valley  of  the  Republi- 
can. They  crossed  the  rolling  prairie,  fresh  and  dewy, 
covered  with  tall  grasses  and  flowering  shrubs  and 
plants;  startled  several  bands  of  antelope  into  swift, 
graceful  flight  after  a  moment  of  staring  with  banded 
heads  uplifted ;  and  threading  shallow  draws  and  climb- 
ing in  and  out  of  gullies  climbed  the  hither  slope  of  the 
hills. 

Black  Beaver  seemed  to  know  just  where  he  was 
going,  and  he  also  seemed  in  a  hurry  to  get  there.  He 
did  not  halt  once,  not  even  to  kill  an  antelope.  The 
Indian  ponies  pressed  forward  at  trot  and  occasionally 


i8o  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

at  fast  walk.  Shep's  tongue  soon  was  hanging  out,  as 
he  loped  beside  Terry,  but  the  colt  proved  to  be  as 
good  as  the  ponies,  and  Terry,  with  his  panther  claw 
necklace  bobbing  on  his  chest,  was  determined  to  show 
that  he  could  ride  as  far  as  anybody.  But  the  shot- 
gun, across  his  lap,  was  getting  heavy. 

They  topped  the  divide;  the  Valley  of  the  Blue  lay 
behind  and  below.  Terry  thought  he  could  see  the 
Stantons'  place,  but  his  own  home  was  out  of  sight, 
around  a  timbered  shoulder  of  the  hills.  Next,  the 
Valley  of  the  Republican  unfolded,  before  and  below, 
with  never  a  sign  of  a  settlement  in  it.  They  had 
struck  it  far  above  the  settlements.  At  the  lower  end 
were  Fort  Riley  and  ranches,  but  here  there  was  noth- 
ing except  the  open  country,  where  buffalo  roamed 
and  where  the  wild  Indians  like  the  Cheyennes  and  the 
Sioux  and  the  tame  Indians  like  the  Delawares  and 
Shawnees  hunted. 

Black  Beaver  halted  for  a  survey.  All  halted,  while 
the  horses  puffed  and  nibbled  at  the  herbage.  Gut- 
tural comments  were  exchanged.  The  Delawares  had 
dropped  their  robes  around  their  waists,  and  were 
riding  in  their  calico  shirts. 

General  Jackson  pointed. 

"  Buffs,"  he  said.    "  Heap  buffs." 

Down  in  the  valley,  fringed  through  the  middle  by 
the  timber  of  the  Republican  River,  and  dotted  with 
other  timber,  was  a  black  mass,  on  the  right.  It  looked 
like  goose-berry  bushes,  or  other  bushes.  Didn't  move, 
did  it?  And  those  were  buffalo,  had  said  General 
Jackson !  What  a  lot  of  them,  then — covering  several 
acres!  Thousands  of  buffalo,  feeding! 


HUNTING  WITH  THE  DELAWARES     181 

"  Heap  buffs,"  agreed  Terry,  breathing  hard.  Now 
what — charge  them? 

"  Ant'lopes,"  grunted  General  Jackson,  with  another 
gesture,  toward  a  smaller  blotch,  of  dark  flecked  with 
white,  like  a  carpet.  Even  as  they  gazed,  the  carpet 
billowed  and  moved.  The  antelope  were  in  flight. 
They  were  uneasy  creatures,  very  panicky,  and  at  light- 
ing speed  they  swept  along,  until  they  stopped  and 
grazed  again. 

"  Heap  antelopes,"  agreed  Terry. 

"Deers;  mebbe  elks,"  grunted  General  Jackson,  in- 
dicating the  valley.  "  No  hunt  now.  Eat." 

Black  Beaver  led  off  again,  and  they  descended,  in 
single  file,  winding  down  through  timber  and  parks, 
while  the  sun  sank  lower  in  their  faces ;  and  suddenly, 
at  the  foot  of  the  slope,  they  rode  right  into  a  camp. 
It  was  a  camp  of  more  Delawares,  located  beside  a 
stream,  in  a  little  basin  or  park  amidst  the  trees.  There 
were  a  number  of  brush  lean-tos,  ponies  grazing,  two 
fires  smouldering,  with  pots  hanging  above  them,  three 
squaws,  in  calico  wrappers,  two  men,  several  children, 
and  half  a  dozen  dogs  who  made  a  rush,  barking,  at 
Shep.  Shep  bristled  and  stood  his  ground  (he  had 
met  Indian  dogs  before,  and  they  were  big  bluffers) ; 
and  the  dogs  decided  to  wait.  The  Indian  women  threw 
sticks  at  them,  until  they  slunk  off,  still  growling. 

Amidst  short  choky  greetings  Terry's  Delawares 
slipped  from  their  ponies,  so  Terry  dismounted  also — 
and  glad  enough  was  he  to  do  it.  The  saddle  had 
grown  very  hot,  and  hard.  The  women  came  and 
led  the  horses  away,  to  turn  them  out  to  water  and 


182  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

grass.  Black  Beaver  and  John  Bushman  squatted  be- 
side one  of  the  pots,  General  Jackson  beckoned  Terry 
to  the  other.  The  pots  were  bubbling  and  smelled  de- 
licious. The  women  came  back,  and  with  gourd  spoons 
ladled  from  the  pots,  to  bark  platters,  and  handed  the 
platters  around.  General  Jackson  began  to  eat  with 
his  hunting-knife  and  his  fingers,  and  Terry  saw  noth- 
ing now  to  do  but  to  do  likewise.  That  was  the  Indian 
way.  So  he  speared  and  scraped  with  his  knife,  and 
sucked  his  fingers.  Wah !  Heap  good ! 

One  of  the  women  was  Black  Beaver's  wife ;  another 
was  John  Bushman's  wife;  the  other  was  the  wife  of 
Jim  Ned — the  man  who  sat  with  a  blanket  over  his 
head  because,  as  Terry  found  out  afterward,  he  was 
part  Negro  and  had  short  woolly  hair  which  he  tried 
to  hide.  The  other  man  was  a  Shawnee.  He  had  short 
straight  black  hair  and  a  round  dark  face.  The  Del- 
awares  and  the  Shawnees  lived  together  as  brothers. 
Fall  Leaf  wasn't  here. 

Judging  by  the  pots,  and  by  the  bones,  and  by  the 
deer  hides  pegged  out  to  dry,  the  camp  already  had 
been  hunting.  But  after  the  meal  General  Jackson 
gave  no  indication  of  starting  out;  neither  did  any- 
body else.  They  just  lay  around  and  "  lazed."  Terry 
determined  to  ask  no  questions.  With  his  panther  neck- 
lace, which  entitled  him  to  be  ranked  as  a  mighty 
hunter  himself,  he  felt  that  he  could  be  as  much  Indian 
as  anybody. 

The  men  stretched  out  and  dozed;  the  dogs  quit 
growling  and  bristling,  and  slept;  the  children  played 
quiet  games,  except  two  babies  who,  wrapped  up  and 


HUNTING  WITH  THE  DELAWARES     183 

strapped  to  boards,  were  set  against  a  couple  of  trees, 
whence  they  stared  with  beady  black  eyes — principally 
at  Terry,  and  Shep.  And  the  women  worked. 

How  they  did  work !  Mrs.  John  Bushman  and  Mrs. 
Jim  Ned,  on  their  hands  and  knees,  scraped  and  scraped 
at  a  deer  hide  each,  using  bone  scrapers  with  which  to 
remove  the  flesh.  Occasionally  one  or  the  other  grunted 
a  sentence,  but  they  did  not  talk  often;  they  were  too 
busy.  Mrs.  Black  Beaver  hustled  to  the  creek,  toiled 
back  with  a  kettle  of  water,  put  it  on  the  fire,  and  seiz- 
ing a  hatchet  actually  began  to  chop  wood.  Terry 
debated  whether  he  ought  not  to  help ;  but  none  of  the 
men  took  any  notice,  so  he  did  not  dare. 

Next  Mrs.  Black  Beaver  began  to  cut  meat  into 
pieces — and  when  a  baby  cried  she  gave  it  a  strip  of 
gristle  to  suck.  The  pieces  of  meat  were  tossed  into 
the  kettle.  The  dogs  got  the  scraps — Shep  the  most. 

In  a  couple  of  hours  Black  Beaver  rose,  looked  at  the 
low  sun,  and  said  something.  General  Jackson  stood 
up.  The  other  men  roused. 

"  Now  little  hunt,"  informed  General  Jackson,  to 
Terry.  "  Kill  'urn  deers.  Deers  sleep,  Injuns  sleep. 
Pret*  soon  deers  get  up,  eat,  drink;  Injuns  get  up,  kill 


'urn/' 


"  Buffalo,  too?  "  asked  Terry,  expectant. 

"  Buffs  to-morrow.  Ketch  'urn  deers.  Get  hoss. 
Come."  And  as  he  turned  away  he  added :  "  Tie  up 
dog.  No  good  for  deers." 

The  Delaware  men  (including  the  Shawnee)  were 
saddling  their  horses,  and  Terry  hurried  to  the  colt. 
He  saddled  in  a  jiffy,  and  tied  Shep  to  a  tree,  and  was 


184  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

ready.  General  Jackson  beckoned  to  him,  so  they  rode 
off  together.  Shep,  much  disappointed,  whined  after. 
The  squaws  kept  right  on  working.  Hunting  was  no 
pleasure  for  them. 

General  Jackson  led  at  an  amble  through  seme  tim- 
ber, and  struck  down  a  grassy  draw.  Terry,  close  fol- 
lowing, alertly  peered  and  listened,  prepared  to  see  a 
deer  at  any  moment.  It  looked  like  a  good  deer  place. 
He  did  hear  one — or  at  least  some  noise  that  sounded 
like  one ;  but  General  Jackson  never  paused.  They  rode 
for  half  an  hour,  ever  getting  farther  from  camp,  and 
Terry  was  lost  completely,  when  General  Jackson 
reined  in  his  pony  and  swept  a  keen  glance  around. 

"  Deers  here,"  he  said.  "  Mebbe  ketch  'urn.  Get 
off,  tie  pony." 

Before  extended  a  meadow,  rich  with  grass  and 
flowers,  and  held  in  the  bend  of  a  creek.  The  timber 
skirted  it  on  all  sides.  General  Jackson  moved  his 
pony  back  deeper  among  the  trees  and  tied  him ;  Ernest 
did  the  same  with  the  colt. 

"  Now  we  go  t'odder  side,"  explained  General  Jack- 
son. "  Wind  bad,  dis  side.  Mudder  deer,  he  hide  fawn 
in  brush,  mebbe  so  sleep,  mebbe  so  eat,  mebbe  so  drink. 
Delaware  make  noise  like  fawn,  mudder  he  run  out, 
Delaware  shoot  'urn.  Huh !  " 

With  General  Jackson  treading  noiselessly  on  moc- 
casinned  soles,  and  Terry  trudging  breathlessly  on  tip- 
toe, they  made  half  circuit  of  the  meadow,  until  the 
General  reached  what  evidently  he  judged  was  a  good 
spot.  He  composedly  sank  down  behind  a  clump  of 
brush,  motioned  to  Terry  to  sit  beside  him;  and  rest- 


HUNTING  WITH  THE  DELAWARES     185 

ing  his  rifle  across  his  knees  extracted  from  the  bosom 
of  his  shirt  what  appeared  to  be  a  short  joint  of  cane. 

"  Make  'urn  fawn  noise,  ketch  'um  doe,"  he  re- 
marked, to  Terry. 

He  put  the  piece  of  cane  to  his  lips,  and  blew  through 
it — and  it  must  have  had  a  reed  tongue  in  it,  like  the 
reed  of  a  horn,  for  it  gave  out  a  funny  squawk. 
Sounded  like  a  lamb  bleat,  only  it  was  thinnner  and 
squeakier. 

"  Watch  for  mudder,  come  out,  think  he  hear  fawn 
calling,"  explained  General  Jackson,  pausing.  "  When 
come  close,  shoot  'um." 

He  continued  to  bleat.  The  meadow,  before,  was 
quiet  and  sunny;  the  stream  rippled,  and  the  sun  cast 
long  shadows.  The  bleat  of  the  reeded  cane  shrilled 
insistent.  Terry  watched  right  and  left. 

With  movement  almost  imperceptible  General  Jack- 
son's elbow  nudged  Terry's.  A  deer?  Terry's  eyes 
roved  hither,  thither — and  he  saw  it,  on  the  edge  of 
the  timber,  to  the  left :  a  deer,  standing  there,  head  up, 
facing  them. 

General  Jackson's  bleating  changed  its  notes — grew 
shriller,  kind  of  imploring;  and  while  he  played  away, 
out  came  the  deer.  It  was  a  doe — a  mother  doe.  Ears 
pricked,  nostrils  wide,  stepping  high  and  alarmed, 
straight  she  trotted  into  the  meadow  and  made  right 
for  them.  She  halted,  she  advanced  again,  seeking 
her  baby.  What  a  beautiful  thing  she  was !  She  had 
arrived  so  near  that  Terry  could  see  her  nostrils  twitch, 
as  she  sniffed,  and  the  liquid  brown  of  her  large  soft 
eyes. 


186  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

General  Jackson's  elbow  nudged  him  again,  as  com- 
mand to  shoot.  But  how  could  anybody  shoot  a  mother 
deer,  this  way,  when  she  was  coming  to  protect  her 
baby?  Evidently  she  didn't  want  to  come;  only,  she 
had  to — and  she  suspected  a  trap.  Terry,  all  a-tremble, 
didn't  raise  his  gun.  It  was  a  dead  shot ;  why,  he  could 
have  blown  her  head  off  the  way  he  blew  off  the  head 
of  the  panther — but  somehow,  he  simply  could  not 
shoot  her,  as  she  stood  there,  listening,  sniffing,  staring 
right  at  them,  fearing  for  herself  but  fearing  more  for 
her  baby. 

In  his  impatience  General  Jackson  must  have  uttered 
a  false  note,  or  else  the  breeze  shifted ;  for  on  a  sudden, 
with  a  snort  the  mother  whirled  and  at  a  bound  was 
away,  into  the  timber.  Quick  though  she  was,  General 
Jackson  was  almost  as  quick;  his  rifle  leaped  to  his 
shoulder— "Bang!" 

Up  he  sprang,  and  forward  he  ran,  Terry  bolting 
excitedly  after. 

"  Did  you  hit  her  ?    Did  you  hit  her  ?  " 

General  Jackson  was  searching  on  the  leaves  and 
grasses,  at  the  spot  where  the  mother  had  vanished. 
He  was  not  in  good  humor. 

"  Why  you  no  shoot  'um  ?  "  he  demanded,  angrily. 
"  Me  call  'um,  you  shoot  'um.  Why  no?  " 

"  I  couldn't — it  didn't  seem  fair,"  explained  Terry. 

"  Humph !  "  grunted  General  Jackson.  "  Heap  fool. 
Deer  gone  now."  And  he  strode  for  the  horses. 

So  he  hadn't  hit  her,  and  Terry  was  glad.  For  sup- 
posing they  had  killed  her,  even  on  the  run;  then  what 
would  have  became  of  the  little  fawn  ? 


HUNTING  WITH  THE  DELAWARES     187 

The  General  grumpily  mounted  his  pony,  Terry, 
feeling  that  he  was  in  disfavor,  mounted  the  colt,  and 
they  rode  in  a  new  direction.  The  Delaware  acted  as  if 
on  business  bent;  his  hunting  instincts  were  now  all 
aroused,  and  he  was  bound  to  have  a  deer.  A  gun-shot 
echoed  faintly  through  the  timber,  and  he  grunted 
again. 

"  Black  Beaver,"  he  said.    "  Huh!    Get  'urn  deer." 

From  each  little  rise  he  cautiously  searched  before, 
ere  continuing;  and  when  he  struck  a  gully  he  rode 
along  the  edge,  and  scanned  the  bottom  and  the  op- 
posite side. 

They  were  in  the  Valley  of  the  Republican,  and  were 
circuiting  the  borders  of  a  timber  island — a  patch 
broken  away  from  the  hills,  as  though  it  had  slipped — 
when  he  stopped  again,  with  hand  raised  to  warn  Terry. 

"  Deers,"  he  said.  "  Plenty  deers.  Sleep  'urn  day, 
feed  'um  now." 

Terry  peered  around  the  General.  Before,  beyond 
the  trees,  or  where  the  trees  thinned  to  scattered  oaks 
and  elms  and  hickories  ere  ceasing  entirely,  were  at 
least  twenty  deer,  cropping  the  grass  and  switching 
their  short  tails — occasionally  lifting  their  heads  and 
surveying  for  danger.  They  were  four  or  five  hun- 
dred yards  distant,  but  very  plain  in  the  last  rays  of 
the  setting  sun.  Several  fawns  were  gamboling  like 
lambs.  It  was  a  pretty  sight — and  General  Jackson's 
nostrils  widened  eagerly.  He  turned  his  cheek,  seeking 
the  breeze ;  it  wafted  quartering.  He  slipped  from  his 
horse. 

"  Wait  'um,"  he  bade,  to  Terry.    "  Me  shoot  'um. 


i88  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

No  fool  dis  time.  Mebbe  run,  you  shoot  'um."  And  he 
was  gone,  on  silent  foot,  passing  like  a  shadow  through 
the  timber,  to  make  a  circuit. 

Terry  sat,  scarcely  daring  to  move.  The  deer  fed, 
all  unconscious  that  somebody  was  stalking  them. 
There  was  one  big  deer,  among  a  bunch  grazing  by 
themselves.  These  were  the  bucks,  probably ;  for  most 
of  the  fawns  were  not  yet  weaned,  and  they  and  their 
mothers  stayed  together.  Besides,  as  everybody  knew, 
the  bucks  were  growing  new  horns  and  were  apt  to 
be  rather  cross,  until  the  horns  hardened. 

Look !  There  was  General  Jackson,  off  yonder,  just 
emerging  to  the  edge  of  the  timber.  He  was  bending 
low,  and  fairly  slinking,  from  trunk  to  trunk,  and  shrub 
to  shrub;  but  he  moved  swiftly  and  surely.  He  was 
almost  close  enough — wasn't  he  ?  Watch !  He  was  on 
his  knees,  crouching,  stationary,  and  leveling  his  rifle. 

Terry  dismounted  in  a  jiffy.  The  deer  were  liable 
to  come  this  way,  up  the  draw,  running  with  the  breeze. 
Now  every  deer  had  raised  its  head,  alarmed — and 
General  Jackson's  rifle  rang  smartly.  Instantly  the 
whole  herd  were  in  full  flight,  scouring  up  the  draw. 
Terry  sprang  forward,  to  the  farthest  tree  that  he  could 
reach — he  barely  had  time,  for  they  were  coming,  the 
big  fellow  leading,  the  little  fawns  gallantly  forging 
in  the  rear. 

They  suddenly  swerved  in,  as  if  panic  stricken  by 
another  enemy — and  as  they  careered  past,  Terry's  gun 
leaped  of  itself  to  his  shoulder,  he  took  quick  aim  just 
ahead  of  the  leader,  and  pulled  both  triggers.  As  he 
went  sprawling,  backward,  he  saw  the  big  fellow  plunge 


HUNTING  WITH  THE  DELAWARES     189 

on  his  nose,  roll  over  and  over ;  and  when  Terry  hastily 
rose,  the  herd  had  streamed  on  with  flash  of  white  tails, 
but  the  big  fellow  was  lying  in  a  mass  of  brown  and 
red. 

Out  ran  Terry,  wildly  jubilant — and  from  op- 
posite rode  down  a  horseman. 

The  deer  was  stone  dead,  riddled  by  the  buckshot. 
He  was  a  buck,  his  horns  still  in  the  velvet — and  he  was 
a  big  one. 

"  Humph !  Good !  Heap  good,"  praised  the  horse- 
man, to  Terry.  "  Shoot  'urn  on  run." 

He  was  Black  Beaver,  and  it  was  he  who  had  made 
the  herd  swerve.  He  bore  behind  his  saddle  another 
carcass.  Terry  straightened  up  proudly.  Black  Beaver 
dismounted,  and  with  his  hunting  knife  opened  the 
dead  deer's  throat,  to  let  out  the  blood.  Terry  knew 
this  ought  to  be  done,  but  he  hated  to  do  it  himself. 

"  General  Jackson  get  'urn  'nodder,"  said  Black 
Beaver.  "  Now  bring  out  hoss,  put  'um  on.  Then  go 
get  odder." 

Yes,  in  the  open,  where  the  deer  had  been  feeding, 
General  Jackson  was  busy.  Terry  led  out  his  colt,  and 
held  him  while  Black  Beaver  lifted  the  limp  body  across 
the  haunches,  and  with  the  hide  rope  tied  the  legs  to- 
gether, underneath ;  drawing  them  forward  with  a  half 
hitch  or  two,  throwing  a  couple  of  wrappings  around 
the  body  also. 

The  colt  did  not  fancy  this,  but  stood  fast.  Then 
they  rode  with  General  Jackson's  pony  down  to  his 
owner,  and  tied  that  deer  on,  also. 

"  Huh !    White  boy  shoot  'um  two  time,  one  deer," 


I9o  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

criticized  General  Jackson,  as  he  climbed  into  his 
saddle;  but  he  did  not  speak  unkindly,  this  time,  and 
Terry  felt  pretty  well  satisfied  with  himself. 

So,  bearing  a  deer  apiece,  they  rode  back,  in  the 
twilight,  to  camp,  and  arrived  at  dusk. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

MORE  LIVESTOCK  FOR  THE  RANCH 

"Now  sleep.  Buffs  to-morrow,"  were  the  last 
words,  to-night,  of  General  Jackson,  indicating  that  it 
was  time  to  turn  in. 

The  deer  hunt  had  been  a  great  success,  evidently. 
Jim  Ned,  John  Bushman,  the  Shawnee — everybody  had 
returned  with  pony  laden.  John  Bushman  had  brought 
in  two  deer,  and  the  Shawnee  an  elk.  All  the  carcasses 
were  dumped  down,  for  the  women,  and  the  women 
had  immediately  set  to  work  with  their  knives.  They 
worked  by  ruddy  firelight,  after  darkness  fell;  deftly 
removed  the  hides  and  heads,  and  proceeded  to  cut  the 
bones  and  meat  apart  as  if  they  were  determined  not  to 
waste  a  morsel.  They  now  and  then  tucked  a  piece 
of  the  raw  meat  into  their  mouths,  or  passed  a  choice 
bit  to  the  children :  yes,  chewed  the  liver,  uncooked — 
and  Mrs.  John  Bushman,  with  a  grin,  offered  a  slice 
of  the  liver,  dipped  in  the  gall,  to  Terry!  When  he 
didn't  take  it,  she  ate  it,  herself. 

But  for  those  who  wanted  their  meat  cooked,  the  pots 
were  bubbling,  and  Terry  filled  himself  so  full  that  he, 
like  the  men,  could  only  lie  back,  comfortably,  and 
watch  the  squaws  hack  and  haul  at  the  deer.  Shep, 
who  had  been  roundly  glad  to  see  his  master  again, 
nodded  over  a  bone  between  his  paws,  and  presently, 

191 


192  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

with  a  contented  sigh,  curled  himself  in  a  ball,  for  the 
night.  At  General  Jackson's  suggestion,  Terry  was 
willing  to  do  the  same,  for  his  eyes  had  sticks  in  them, 
and  the  flickering  firelight,  and  the  dark  trees,  and  the 
bending  figures  of  the  squaws,  and  even  the  stars  above, 
all  blended  together. 

So  he  rolled  himself  up  in  his  blanket  on  a  buffalo 
robe  to  which  the  General  pointed,  with  his  feet  to  the 
fire  and  his  head  on  his  folded  coat ;  and  when  the  rest 
of  the  camp  went  to  bed  he  did  not  know,  but  probably 
it  was  very  soon. 

"  Buffs  to-morrow,"  had  said  General  Jackson.  That 
meant  a  buffalo  hunt. 

The  buffalo  robe  was  soft  and  warm,  the  fire  felt 
good  through  the  blanket,  and  as  seemed  to  Terry  he 
hardly  had  snuggled,  and  closed  his  eyes  so  as  to  picture 
out  the  mother  deer,  and  the  running  deer,  and  the 
way  the  big  buck  jumped  and  fell,  and  was  saving  the 
buffalo  hunt  till  the  last,  when,  before  he  had  got  to  the 
coming  buffalo  hunt,  he  was  aroused  by  the  soft  shuffle 
of  the  squaws'  feet,  and  the  crackle  of  the  fires. 

It  was  morning,  already.  The  sky  above  was  pink 
with  sunrise,  the  trees  were  plainly  outlined,  and  the 
squaws  were  preparing  breakfast.  Shep  still  slumbered, 
but  the  colt  and  the  other  horses  grazed,  the  children 
were  running  about.  Black  Beaver  emerged,  yawning, 
from  one  of  the  brush  lean-tos,  and  stalked  down  to 
the  creek,  where  scarcely  out  of  sight  he  took  a  bath; 
and  as  the  camp  was  astir,  Terry  piled  out,  to  do  as  the 
other  Indian  men  did,  and  take  a  bath  also. 

He  untied   Shep,   and  they  went  together — Shep 


MORE  LIVESTOCK  FOR  THE  RANCH    193 

heartily  glad  to  stretch  his  legs,  but  limiting  his  own 
bath  to  a  drink.  After  that  he  nosed  about,  had  a  little 
fight,  over  a  bone ;  seized  the  bone  and  carried  it  to  his 
tree  and  gnawed  it.  A  dog  who  had  tackled  a  panther 
was  equal  to  getting  a  bone  for  himself. 

The  deer  meat  was  being  strung  in  strips,  on  long 
cords,  from  tree  to  tree,  to  dry  in  the  open  air ;  but  by 
the  way  that  chunks  were  popped  into  those  pots  and 
fished  out  again,  to  disappear,  a  hunt  would  be  required 
every  day!  Such  an  appetite  as  Terry  himself  had, 
after  his  cold  bath ;  and  all  the  men  ate  as  if  they  did 
not  expect  to  eat  again  for  a  long  time. 

Immediately  after  breakfast  Black  Beaver  rose, 
mounted  his  pony,  and  rode  away. 

"  Finds  buffs,"  informed  General  Jackson,  to  Terry; 
and  the  squaws,  having  finished  their  household  tasks, 
as  if  in  much  anticipation  began  to  grind  the  edges  of 
their  butcher  knives,  with  flat  stones. 

In  about  an  hour  and  a  half  Black  Beaver  returned. 
He  spoke  only  a  few  sentences,  motioning  westward 
with  his  arm,  but  they  were  enough.  Up  sprang  the 
Delaware  men.  The  women,  who  had  listened  atten- 
tively, hustled  to  collect  various  belongings.  It  looked 
as  though  the  whole  camp  was  to  be  moved.  How- 
ever, Black  Beaver  must  have  brought  good  news,  for 
every  face  was  aglow. 

"  Heap  buffs.  Now  ketch  'urn,"  announced  General 
Jackson.  "  Get  pony.  Come." 

Hunting  buffalo  was  a  different  matter  from  hunting 
deer.  Terry  was  about  to  saddle  the  colt,  when  General 
Jackson  interrupted. 


194 


THE  BOY  SETTLER 


"  No  good.  No  take  'um  saddle.  Ride  pony,  Injun 
way.  Then  fall  off,  no  hurt." 

So?  Terry  rather  doubtfully  eyed  the  contraption 
assigned  to  him.  It  was  only  a  buffalo  hide  pad,  to  be 
strapped  upon  the  colt's  back.  Of  course,  he  had  ridden 
bareback,  many  a  time.  This  was  but  little  better. 
However,  all  the  ponies  were  similarly  equipped,  and 
the  Delawares  had  even  discarded  the  bridles,  substitut- 
ing therefor  single  hide  thongs  looped  at  one  end 
around  the  ponies'  lower  jaws.  The  pad  was  deemed 
safer  probably  because  it  had  no  stirrups,  to  catch  one's 
foot  if  one  fell  off;  but  Terry  decided  that  the  colt 
might  not  stand  for  the  thong.  Accordingly  he  retained 
his  bridle,  to  which  there  were  no  objections. 

Black  Beaver  and  General  Jackson  and  the  other 
Delawares  (including  the  Shawnee)  had  stripped  them- 
selves, also,  quite  to  the  skin.  They  were  naked  save 
for  a  cloth  wrapping  about  their  thighs,  and  a  band 
of  red  flannel  or  of  calico  about  their  forehead — and 
all  were  armed  with  bows  and  quivers,  except  John 
Bushman,  who  had  his  smooth-bore  musket,  and  the 
Shawnee,  who  carried  a  long  lance. 

"  No  got  'um  bow  ?  "  queried  the  General.  "  Shoot 
'um  arrow  fast,  kill  'um  heap  more  buffs." 

"  Aw,  I  can't  shoot  with  bow  and  arrow — not  to  hit 
anything,"  confessed  Terry.  "  I'll  have  to  take  my  gun. 
Heap  gun." 

"  Humph !  "  grunted  General  Jackson.  "  Kill  'um 
deer;  mebbe  kill  'um  buff.  No  can  tell.  Try.  Take 
'urn  dog,  ketch  'um  calf."  And  he  vaulted  easily 
aboard  his  pony.  Black  Beaver  led  out.  The  squaws 
surely  were  breaking  camp. 


MORE  LIVESTOCK  FOR  THE  RANCH    195 

Terry  hastily  scrambled,  gun  in  hand,  upon  his  saddle 
pad,  and  with  word  to  the  joyous  Shep  joined  the  hunt. 
At  a  canter  the  little  cavalcade,  in  single  file,  wound 
through  the  swales  skirting  the  base  of  the  hills  and  the 
edge  of  the  broad  valley.  The  Delawares,  their  sinewy 
bare  legs  pressed  tight  against  their  ponies'  sides,  bows 
in  hand  and  bristling  quivers  slung  high  upon  their 
backs,  the  Shawnee's  lance  extending  aloft  and  John 
Bushman's  yager  across  his  knees,  every  man  sitting 
like  a  bronze  centaur,  made  a  gallant  sight.  Terry's 
colt  had  a  springy  amble;  and  pressing  his  legs  tight 
he  soon  found  that  he  did  not  much  miss  the  stirrups. 
This  was  great  fun,  riding  like  the  Indians  rode. 

From  the  base  of  the  hills  they  obliqued  westward 
into  the  valley  by  way  of  a  shallow  draw  which  hid 
them  from  the  prairie  on  either  side.  Several  bunches 
of  antelope  burst  into  flight,  and  tore  away  on  either 
hand,  but  nobody  paid  any  attention  to  them,  except 
that  General  Jackson,  immediately  before  Terry, 
grunted  disapproval.  Maybe  he  was  afraid  that  they 
would  scare  the  buffalo. 

Where  were  the  buffalo?  Black  Beaver  had  occa- 
sionally wet  his  finger  and  held  it  up,  testing  the  breeze. 
Presently  he  lifted  his  hand,  as  signal  to  halt.  He  dis- 
mounted. Everybody  dismounted.  They  followed 
Black  Beaver  up  the  slope  of  the  draw,  on  the  left ;  as 
they  climbed,  they  crouched ;  Terry,  breathless  with  ex- 
citement, crouched  likewise — and  Shep,  at  his  heels, 
panting,  crouched  also. 

The  breeze  wafted  almost  in  their  faces.  Black 
Beaver  paused,  and  tossed  into  the  air  a  fragment  of 


196  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

dried  grass.  It  fell  to  rearward.  Yes,  the  breeze  was 
all  right.  Now,  as  they  neared  the  low  crest  of  the 
rolling  ground,  Terry  became  conscious  of  a  dull,  con- 
fused rumble,  similar  to  distant  thunder.  On  hands  and 
knees  they  crept  to  the  top,  and  peered  over.  Borne  on 
the  breeze,  the  murmur  suddenly  swelled  louder,  deep 
and  thunderous;  and  see,  there  were  the  buffalo,  ap- 
parently thousands  of  them,  turning  the  prairie  black 
not  a  quarter  of  a  mile  before.  Bulls  roared,  cows 
blared,  calves  were  bounding  here  and  there,  as  the 
great  herd  slowly  moved,  grazing  as  they  went. 

After  the  survey,  heads  were  cautiously  withdrawn ; 
and  the  Delawares  held  a  short  confab.  Black  Beaver 
spoke,  and  gestured.  Then  they  all  retired  down  the 
slope,  to  the  ponies.  They  mounted.  Black  Beaver 
and  Jim  Ned  and  the  Shawnee  promptly  rode  on ;  Gen- 
eral Jackson  and  John  Bushman  turned  back,  and  Terry 
of  course  stuck  close  behind  them — Shep  docilly  in  his 
wake,  as  if  aware  that  he  must  be  careful. 

At  a  trot  they  branched  off  into  another  low  place, 
and  pursued  it  until  it  opened  into  the  prairie — and  now, 
before  on  their  right,  and  closer,  was  exposed  a  portion 
of  the  herd.  Here  the  General  and  Terry  sat  motion- 
less, while  John  Bushman  rode  aside,  a  little  higher,  to 
see  more. 

The  nostrils  of  General  Jackson  expanded,  his  face 
was  firmly  set,  once  he  twitched  at  the  feathered  ends 
of  his  arrows  in  the  quiver,  as  though  to  feel  that  the 
arrows  were  loose — and  he  examined  his  bow.  His 
pony,  and  the  other  horses,  pricked  forward  their  ears. 
They,  too,  knew.  Evidently  something  was  about  to 


MORE  LIVESTOCK  FOR  THE  RANCH     197 

happen  with  a  rush.  Under  him,  Terry  felt  his  pony 
trembling.  So  they  waited,  while  the  buffalo  rumbled, 
and  the  edge  of  the  herd  in  sight  grazed  and  fought 
and  pawed  and  rolled. 

John  Bushman  lifted  his  hand.  Instantly  General 
Jackson  clapped  heels  against  his  pony,  and  with  a 
single  guttural  "  Come !  "  launched  into  full  speed.  At 
full  speed  John  Bushman  was  charging,  in  dead  run. 
Terry's  colt  needed  no  word,  for  he,  also,  had  started 
with  such  a  jump  that  his  rider  narrowly  escaped  falling 
off  backward. 

Terry  clung  hard.  In  a  twinkling  they  were  out  of 
their  ambush,  and  the  whole  vast  herd  lay  spread  before 
them.  Across,  almost  opposite,  straight  at  the  fore 
flank  of  the  herd  three  specks  were  scouring  over  the 
short  grass.  They  were  Black  Beaver  and  Jim  Ned 
and  the  Shawnee,  who  had  made  a  half  circuit. 

For  a  moment  or  two  the  buffalo  appeared  not  to 
sense  that  they  were  being  attacked.  They  seemed  not 
to  see !  What  stupid  animals — far  less  keen  than  deer 
and  antelope.  Faster  dashed  onward  General  Jackson 
and  John  Bushman,  lashing  their  ponies  with  the  quirts 
or  braided  hide  whips  hanging  from  their  wrists,  and 
faster  spurted  Terry,  trying  to  overtake. 

Suddenly  up  rose  the  head  of  a  big  bull,  who  on  the 
edge  of  the  herd  was  grazing,  facing  this  way.  For  a 
brief  instant  he  roundly  stared,  as  if  scarce  believing 
his  eyes.  He  whirled  on  the  pivot  of  his  four  hoofs 
— up  rose  other  heads,  along  the  edge — and  with 
simultaneous  movement  like  the  breaking  loose  of  an 


198  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

avalanche  on  a  mountain-side  the  herd,  whether  seeing 
or  not  seeing,  had  stampeded  into  headlong  flight. 

The  ground  fairly  shook  to  the  pounding  of  those 
hoofs  under  the  billowy  flow  of  the  myriad  brown 
backs  rolling  densely.  Obliquely  athwart  the  valley 
they  poured,  running  up  wind,  as  buffalo  usually  did, 
so  as  to  smell  for  danger  before. 

But  their  flight  was  too  late.  Clinging  with  both 
legs  and  one  hand,  and  at  the  dead  run  bounced  hardly 
at  all  on  his  saddle  pad,  Terry  saw  John  Bushman 
reach  the  herd  first — John's  pony  swerved  in,  close  on 
the  left  of  a  lumbering  monster — tore  on,  almost  within 
arm's  length — John  dropped  the  barrel  of  his  gun  across 
his  knees — didn't  put  the  butt  to  his  shoulder,  but  pulled 
trigger;  and  to  the  puff  of  smoke  the  buffalo  jumped 
painfully,  staggered,  slackened,  and  fell  behind  while 
John  Bushman,  from  his  powder  horn  emptying  a  dash 
of  powder  into  the  muzzle  and  spitting  a  bullet  from  his 
mouth  in  after,  passed  on  to  the  next  nearest  buffalo. 

With  the  corner  of  his  eyes  Ernest  noted  the 
wounded  buffalo  drop  to  his  knees,  and  sway.  But 
now,  with  rapid  motion,  General  Jackson  had  plucked 
from  the  quiver  atop  his  left  shoulder  an  arrow — had 
fitted  it  like  lightning  to  his  bow — and  fairly  brushing 
past  a  laboring  cow  drew  bow — loosed  it — whang! 
(Ernest  heard  the  string  hum) — and  the  cow  also 
drifted  aside.  Under  her  fore  leg  just  the  end  feathers 
of  the  arrow  showed. 

General  Jackson  plucked  another  arrow — he  scarcely 
slackened,  but  drew  bow  again — whang!  And 
"  Boom !  "  spoke  John  Bushman's  musket.  Far  yonder, 


MORE  LIVESTOCK  FOR  THE  RANCH    199 

Black  Beaver  and  Jim  Ned  were  plying  their  bows, 
while  the  Shawnee  evidently  was  thrusting  with  his 
lance. 

So  fiercely  rode  the  General  and  John  Bushman 
that  strive  as  Terry  might,  hammering  his  colt  with  his 
heels  and  shouting  "  G'lang !  G'lang  with  you !  "  he 
could  not  overtake  them.  As  for  Shep,  he  was  toiling 
well  to  rearward ;  the  pace  had  been  too  much  for  him. 
But  how  those  Indians  did  ride !  Just  sat,  near  naked, 
on  their  near  naked  ponies,  let  the  bridle  thongs  sway 
loose,  and  shot  and  shot — General  Jackson  apparently 
loosing  three  arrows  to  one  load  by  John  Bushman. 
And  how  those  huge  buffalo  could  run!  They  didn't 
looked  as  though  they  were  running  fast ;  they  simply 
ploughed  along,  with  a  curious  plunging  up  and  down 
movement,  tails  high  and  heads  low ;  but  they  covered 
the  ground  at  an  amazing  speed. 

Amidst  the  rumble,  and  the  reek  of  dust  and  hot 
breaths,  in  the  wake  of  the  herd's  rear  flank  pressed 
Terry.  The  herd  had  begun  to  straggle.  The  old  bulls 
and  cows  and  the  cows  with  calves  were  falling  behind  ; 
and  every  now  and  then  there  was  the  wounded,  and 
the  dying. 

Terry  had  not  been  enabled  to  fire  a  shot.  The  colt 
was  less  anxious  than  he  to  get  into  close  quarters. 
But  judging  by  the  methods  of  John  Bushman,  to  shoot 
a  buffalo  one  must  go  right  beside  him.  Before,  on 
Terry's  left,  lumbered  an  enormous  bull,  the  largest 
buffalo  anywhere  near.  He  occupied  a  place  by  him- 
self, among  the  yellow  little  calves  and  the  straining 
mothers.  Terry  hauled  on  the  colt's  bit,  and  with  re- 


200  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

peated  hammerings  and  "  G'lang's !  "  edged  in  for  him. 
The  colt  tossed  his  head  and  snorted  rebelliously,  but 
he  obeyed,  entering  into  the  spirit  of  the  chase.  On 
lumbered  the  bull,  nearer  pressed  Terry,  inch  by  inch. 
He  could  hear  the  bull's  panting  wheeze  as  the  breath 
whistled  through  his  nostrils — could  see  his  red  tongue 
hanging  out — his  eyes  bulging  through  his  tangled  fore- 
lock— the  dust  on  his  ridiculously  scant  rump  and  the 
matted  brown  hair  dangling  from  his  burly  shoulders, 
for  this  was  still  shedding  time  with  buffalo. 

The  colt  was  almost  abreast  of  him,  and  Terry 
shifted  his  gun,  to  try  to  level  it  the  way  John  Bushman 
had  leveled  the  musket,  when  like  a  flash  the  bull 
whirled,  head  down,  and  bolted  for  the  colt.  With  a 
prodigious  leap,  around  whirled  the  colt  also — and 
small  wonder,  for  that  bull  looked  like  a  gigantic  lion. 
Who  would  have  guessed  that  so  large  an  animal 
could  be  so  quick  on  his  feet? 

Terry  almost  lost  his  gun;  and  worse,  he  almost 
lost  his  seat.  But  he  stuck,  with  one  leg  and  one  arm, 
while  away  raced  the  colt,  in  a  panic,  until  Terry  man- 
aged to  haul  him  in.  The  bull  had  not  chased ;  he  had 
merely  whirled,  as  a  threat,  and  then  had  lumbered  on 
again. 

After  him  pelted  Terry,  bound  to  have  him  or  at 
least  to  teach  him  a  lesson  upon  respect  for  a  boy  wear- 
ing a  panther  claw  necklace ;  drew  up  beside  him,  inch 
by  inch,  and  was  just  about  to  swing  the  gun  at  him 
and  blaze  away,  regardless,  when  again,  as  quick  as  a 
cat,  around  whirled  the  big  bull,  and  charged.  His  horn 
actually  grazed  the  colt's  flank — "Bang!"  exploded 


MORE  LIVESTOCK  FOR  THE  RANCH    201 

the  gun  and  well-nigh  flew  out  of  Terry's  astonished 
hands — and  away  bolted  the  frightened  colt. 

This  time  the  bull  pursued  for  a  short  distance,  until 
he  stopped,  pawed  and  rumbled,  a  moment,  in  indignant 
fashion,  throwing  the  sod  high  and  dripping  froth  down 
his  beard  and  lolling  red  tongue ;  and  then  made  after 
the  herd. 

He  looked  so  large  and  sort  of  helpless,  and  so  tired, 
that  Terry  laughed. 

"  Go  on,"  he  called.    "  I  don't  want  you." 

And  neither  did  the  colt. 

Terry  sat,  calming  the  winded  colt  and  taking  breath 
himself.  Before,  the  Delawares  were  still  darting  in 
and  out,  in  their  attacks.  Fragments  had  been  broken 
off  from  the  main  herd.  Away  at  the  front  Black 
Beaver  was  chasing  a  single  buffalo  across  the  prairie  ; 
and  yonder  was  General  Jackson  having  a  set-to  with 
another  big  bull.  The  bull  charged,  General  Jackson 
fled,  his  head  over  his  shoulder — the  bull  turned  back, 
and  General  Jackson  charged.  Presently  down  sank 
the  bull ;  and  Black  Beaver  had  despatched  his  animal, 
also.  Every  Indian  was  busy. 

Here  the  tail  of  the  herd  had  dwindled  out  to  the 
smallest  yellow  calves,  and  the  weakest  mothers,  and 
several  stiffest  old  bulls,  and  two  or  three  cripples — all 
toiling  hard  for  safety.  Terry  really  had  not  the  heart 
to  try  to  kill  any  of  these.  In  fact,  it  looked  to  him 
as  though  enough  buffalo  had  been  killed ;  the  wake  of 
the  herd  was  dotted  with  the  great  bodies,  prone  on 
their  sides  or  stomachs,  where  their  legs  had  failed  and 
had  dropped  them. 

He  bethought  himself  of  Shep.    Ah,  there  he  came, 


202  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

still  behind,  putting  best  foot  forward  as  he  bounded 
like  a  shaggy  ball.  Good  old  Shep.  'Twas  a  shame 
to  leave  him  alone.  Then,  while  waiting  for  him, 
Terry  saw  something  else  as  his  eyes  roved,  watching 
out  for  sights.  Across  the  rear  of  the  herd — the  very 
rear,  which  had  passed,  he  saw  a  cow !  Not  a  buffalo, 
but  a  cow,  a  real  cow!  She  was  trying  to  keep  up 
with  the  herd,  and  a  little  calf  was  trying  to  keep  up 
with  her,  and  they  both  were  gradually  being  left. 

She  was  a  brindled  cow,  but  the  calf  was  a  regular 
buffalo  calf,  yellow  and  humpy  like  the  others. 

"  Hoo-ray!  "  gasped  Terry,  scarce  believing  his  eyes. 
This  was  a  prize,  indeed — better  than  a  dozen  buffalo. 
With  his  exclamation  he  turned  his  colt's  head,  dug 
in  his  heels,  and  galloped  to  cut  the  cow  off.  If  he 
could  only  catch  her,  and  take  her  home,  wouldn't  his 
mother  and  Harry  cheer ! 

It  was  a  short  race.  The  buffalo  mothers  had  surged 
along  paying  no  attention  to  the  calves,  even  to  the 
littlest  ones ;  but  this  real  cow  mother  acted  as  if  very 
anxious  that  her  calf  should  keep  up.  The  colt,  who 
did  not  like  the  buffalo,  was  not  at  all  afraid  of  a 
brindled  cow ;  and  shouting  and  urging,  Terry  sped  in 
ahead  of  her. 

"  Get  out  of  here !  "  he  yelled,  waving  his  arm. 

She  swerved,  then  down  went  her  head  (she  had  onlv 
one  horn)  and  she  charged  him  as  quickly  as  ever  the 
big  bull  had  charged,  but  much  more  wickedly 

The  colt  dodged ;  she  stood  her  ground,  heaving  and 
rumbling,  and  the  calf  ran  almost  under  her.  Terry 
rode  in  a  circle,  waving  and  shouting  and  trying  to 


MORE  LIVESTOCK  FOR  THE  RANCH    203 

drive  her  back.  But  she  would  not  budge.  She  only 
faced  him,  ready  to  charge  again. 

Yes,  plain  brindled  cow  she  was — rather  gaunt,  yet, 
but  with  full  bag  and  sturdy  frame  She  had  a  broken 
horn  and  an  ear  square-cropped  (that  is,  cut  square  off 
at  the  end)  but  she  seemed  to  have  no  brand  on  her 
weather-beaten  hide.  As  for  the  calf,  he  looked  to  be 
regular  buffalo ;  a  woolly  little  chap,  higher  at  the  shoul- 
ders than  at  the  hips. 

Now  up  came  Shep,  at  last,  his  tongue  flopping. 
Terry  welcomed  him,  for  Shep  knew  all  about  cows. 

"Sick,  Shep!  Take  care  of  her!  Sick,  boy!" 
ordered  Terry,  gladly. 

At  the  cow's  heels  darted  Shep,  barking — she  whirled 
on  him — charged  a  few  steps,  Shep  sprang  aside,  was 
at  her  heels  again,  nipping,  and  he  kept  her  so  busy  that 
she  had  no  time  to  attend  to  either  Terry  or  her  calf. 

The  calf  was  left  by  himself.  He  blatted  bewildered 
and  frightened,  for  an  instant;  and  on  a  sudden,  run- 
ning a  few  steps,  he  dropped  to  his  knees,  thrust  his 
nose  into  a  bunch  of  grass  not  more  than  six  inches 
high,  closed  his  eyes  tight,  and  there  he  stood,  thinking 
that  he  was  hiding ! 

It  was  such  a  funny  thing  to  do  that  Terry  had  to 
laugh.  However,  Shep  was  still  engaged  with  the  cow ; 
and  taking  down  his  hide  picket  rope  from  where  it 
dangled,  looped  about  his  colt's  neck,  dismounting 
and  leading  the  colt  by  the  bridle  lines  he  stole  for- 
ward. 

The  calf  thrust  his  nose  in  further  and  closed  his  eyes 
tighter,  and  never  bulged.  Terry  cautiously  passed  the 


204  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

end  of  the  rope  around  the  firm,  warm  fuzzy  neck, 
hastily  knotted  it,  and  started  to  back  to  the  colt — 
when  up  straightened  the  calf,  stared  for  an  instant, 
and  before  Terry  could  dodge  had  butted  him  sprawl- 
ing. The  colt  jerked  the  lines  from  Terry's  hands,  the 
gun  flew  wide,  and  when  Terry  hastily  scrambled  on 
all  fours  until  he  had  gained  his  feet  he  found  himself 
alone  at  one  end  of  the  rope  and  the  calf,  bawling  and 
tugging,  at  the  other. 

The  mother  heard ;  she  started,  but  Shep  nipped  her 
and  she  changed  ends  again.  The  rascal  of  a  woolly 
calf  bounded  for  Terry,  with  another  sudden  butt,  and 
Terry  side-stepped  none  too  soon.  Shucks !  Watchful 
of  the  calf,  in  vain  he  tried  to  grab  the  colt's  bridle. 

"  Hold  her,  Shep !  "  he  encouraged.  But  he  was  not 
very  confident  as  to  how  things  were  going  to  turn  out, 
until  a  shrill  whoop  reached  his  ears,  and  he  saw  Gen- 
eral Jackson  galloping  for  him,  across  the  rolling  prai- 
rie dotted  with  buffalo  bodies. 


CHAPTER  XV 

ON   THE   WAR   TRAIL 

THE  attack  on  the  buffalo  herd  had  ended ;  the  black 
mass  of  the  frightened  animals  was  streaming  on  in 
the  distance,  several  smaller  detachments  were  fleeing 
to  right  and  left,  and  the  Indians  were  riding  back,  over 
the  field,  occasionally  pausing  beside  a  carcass. 

General  Jackson's  quiver  was  empty  of  all  except 
two  or  three  arrows ;  his  tired  pony  fairly  dripped  with 
sweat.  He  halted,  near,  to  survey  Terry  and  the  calf, 
and  Shep  and  the  cow.  His  lips  parted  with  a  grin. 

"  How  ketch  'urn  ?  "  he  called.  "  Calf  ketch  'urn  boy, 
dog  ketch  'um  cow ;  huh  ?  " 

"  Looks  that  way,"  admitted  Terry,  wary  of  the  frac- 
tious calf  who  stood  straddly-legged  but  alert.  "  You 
hold  this  calf  till  I  ketch  'urn  horse;  will  you?  " 

"  Tie  'urn  calf,  kill  'urn  cow,"  proposed  General  Jack- 
son, reaching  for  an  arrow. 

"  No !  "  cried  Terry.  "  Keep  'urn  cow,  keep  'urn  calf  ; 
take  'um  home." 

"  Humph !  "  grunted  General  Jackson,  relenting. 
"  Take  whoa-haw  to  farm ;  mudder  she  milk  he."  And 
with  sudden  energy  he  charged  the  cow,  flourishing 
his  bow. 

205 


206  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

That  was  too  much  for  the  cow.  Evidently  she  was 
afraid  of  an  Indian.  Away  she  scampered,  Shep  at  her 
heels.  Shep  quit  and  lay  down,  to  keep  his  eyes  upon 
her  lest  she  try  to  return,  and  the  General  came  back 
to  Terry. 

Terry  had  been  seeking  something  to  which  to  tie 
the  calf's  rope.  The  General  impatiently  dismounted, 
dug  a  hole  with  his  knife,  tore  loose  a  bunch  of  twigs 
and  grass,  knotted  the  end  of  the  rope  about  the  bunch, 
buried  it  and  stamped  the  earth  atop  it.  That  was  a 
clever  scheme.  Terry  himself  could  not  budge  the  an- 
chor. The  calf  seemed  to  have  given  up  resistance,  and 
only  blatted  after  his  mother — who  from  a  safe  dis- 
tance gazed  and  answered. 

"  Calf  stay,  cow  stay,"  grunted  General  Jackson,  and 
vaulted  on  his  pony.  "  Kill  'urn  buffs  ?  How  many  ?  " 

"  Never  killed  a  one,"  confessed  Terry,  picking  up 
his  gun  and  seizing  the  bridle  of  the  colt.  "  Couldn't. 
Buff  run,  pony  'fraid,  no  shoot." 

"  Huh!  "  commented  the  General.  "  Delaware  kill 
plenty,  white  boy  ketch  'um  whoa-haw.  Good. 

Leaving  the  woolly  calf  securely  tethered  they  rode 
slowly  forward,  to  join  the  other  hunters.  They  passed 
dead  buffalo,  some  with  gun-shot  wounds,  some  with 
one,  two,  and  three  arrows  buried  in  them. 

What  was  to  be  done  with  all  these  buffalo,  anyway? 
The  question  answered  itself,  for,  un-noted  during  the 
excitement,  from  the  hills  in  the  direction  of  the  camp 
had  issued  the  Delaware  women;  bringing  the  horses 
and  children  and  dogs  and  all  the  other  equipment  they 
were  hastening  to  the  field.  With  their  knives  they  im- 


ON  THE  WAR  TRAIL 

mediately  set  to  work  on  the  first  carcasses  that  they 
reached. 

About  midway  of  the  field  the  hunters  came  together. 
Black  Beaver's  quiver  was  entirely  empty  of  fresh  ar- 
rows, but  held  two  bloody  ones  that  he  must  have  pulled 
out  for  re-use!  Jim  Ned's  quiver  was  almost  empty. 
John  Bushman  was  powder  stained,  and  his  left  thigh 
blistered  where  his  hot  gun-barrel  had  rested.  The 
lance  of  the  Shawnee  was  red  from  point  to  end  of 
shaft.  They  all — and  ponies  likewise — were  very  tired, 
but  appeared  satisfied. 

So  they  sat  down,  resting  and  comparing  notes. 

Terry  wandered  about,  examining  things.  Every 
buffalo  was  pierced  by  arrow  or  lance  or  ball  in  practi- 
cally the  one  spot — low  down  just  behind  the  fore 
shoulder.  The  arrows  were  buried  to  their  feathers — 
and  now  and  then  the  arrow  point  had  broken  through 
the  hide  on  the  opposite  side.  Black  Beaver  stepped  to 
a  carcass  near  Terry,  and  laid  hold  of  an  arrow  that 
not  only  had  penetrated  through  but  was  dangling  two- 
thirds  out.  He  twitched  it  forth,  showed  it  to  Terry, 
and  rather  proudly  stowed  it  in  his  quiver,  indicating 
that  he  had  drawn  the  bow  which  sent  it.  Whew! 
Good  shooting,  that ! 

The  women  rapidly  approached,  working  from  car- 
cass to  carcass.  First  they  forced  open  the  jaws  and 
cut  the  tongues  out  by  the  roots  and  laid  them  aside. 
Then  by  main  strength  they  turned  each  buffalo  on  his 
back  and  propped  him  there  by  his  head  and  his  hump, 
and  slit  his  hide  open  and  stripped  it  down.  Then  they 
cut  off  choice  pieces  of  the  meat  and  piled  them  on  the 


208  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

hide;  pretty  soon  the  buffalo  was  out  of  his  hide  and 
dragged  to  one  side,  where  the  dogs  tore  at  him — even 
Shep  joining,  forgetful  of  the  cow. 

Ocasionally  a  woman  split  a  bone  and  handed  it  to 
one  of  the  children,  who  sucked  out  the  marrow. 
General  Jackson  arose,  and  stalking  over  collected 
several  large  cracked  bones.  Returning,  he  passed  them 
around.  Terry  was  so  hungry  that  he  actually  tried  a 
taste  of  the  marrow.  He  found  it  not  so  very  bad, 
although  rather  fatty  and  insipid. 

Not  nearly  all  of  each  buffalo  was  cut  up.  The 
women  seemed  to  have  only  certain  meat  and  bones 
in  mind.  In  time  there  was  a  great  sight,  of  black 
heads  attached  to  the  red  bodies,  piles  of  meat,  and 
quarreling  dogs.  Whenever  an  arrow  was  cut  out, 
the  squaw  laid  it  carefully  aside. 

The  meat,  on  the  hides,  was  dragged  to  a  central  lo- 
cation, and  the  children  were  stationed  to  drive  away 
the  dogs.  A  few  of  the  best  cow  hides  were  pegged  out, 
flesh  side  up,  to  dry ;  other  hides  were  thrown  over  the 
meat,  for  covering.  Fires  were  made,  from  dried 
buffalo  chips  started  with  dead  grass,  and  two  flints 
knocked  together,  and  everybody  squatted  around  and 
roasted  buffalo  meat,  and  ate  and  ate. 

Not  much  more  was  done  by  the  men,  this  day,  but 
the  women  kept  busy  preparing  the  meat  for  packing 
home.  Some  of  it  they  cut  into  long  thin  strips,  and 
strung  by  hide  thongs  between  the  lean-to  poles  that 
they  had  brought  down  from  the  other  camp.  A  few 
chunks,  together  with  the  tongues  that  were  not  eaten, 
were  wrapped  in  the  hides  and  tied  securely.  But  the 
major  portion  of  the  buffalo  was  wasted. 


ON  THE  WAR  TRAIL  209 

And  that  night,  around  the  camp  in  the  open  howled 
an  army  of  wolves. 

But  before  going  to  bed,  Terry  went  out  and  got 
his  calf.  The  mother  cow  had  approached  it  and  was 
giving  it  supper,  and  a  good  licking  over.  She  was 
not  so  pugnacious  now,  and  neither  was  the  calf.  Shep 
easily  tolled  her  away,  in  chase  of  him,  while  General 
Jackson  showed  Terry  a  new  trick. 

"  Hold  'um  by  head,  blow  'um  in  nose/'  he  bade. 
"  Calf  he  follow." 

Terry  boldly  slipped  his  hands  along  the  calf's  back, 
held  the  little  fellow's  head,  and  blew  twice  into  his 
quivering  nostrils.  It  seemed  to  astonish  the  calf — but 
when  Terry  pulled  the  rope  free  and  led  him  along, 
for  camp,  he  trotted  obediently  right  at  Terry's  heels, 
as  if  Terry  were  his  mother! 

When  he  had  been  tied  out  again,  close  to  the  camp, 
the  mother  sidled  on  and  in  the  dusk  joined  him. 

"  Home  to-morrow,  mebbe,"  anounced  General  Jack- 
son. 

After  a  heavy  supper  of  more  buffalo  meat,  in  spite 
of  the  clamor  from  the  wolves  the  camp  slept  soundly 
through  the  night — so  soundly  that  it  did  not  stir  until 
the  sun  was  well  up.  Consequently,  what  with  catching 
the  strayed  horses,  and  gathering  the  partially  dried 
meat  and  a  few  hides  and  packing  them,  and  sorting 
the  arrows  and  cleaning  weapons,  etc.,  etc.,  not  until 
almost  noon  did  the  laden  cavalcade  start  eastward  for 
the  hills  and  the  Valley  of  the  Blue  beyond. 

Terry  at  the  rear  of  the  file  of  men  led  the  calf  (who 
really  did  not  require  leading),  the  mother  cow  ambled 


210  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

anxiously  after,  and  the  women,  with  the  packs,  fol- 
lowed. Nobody  could  deny  that  this  had  been  a  success- 
ful hunt.  Wait  till  George  Stanton  heard  about  it! 

So  they  wended  up  into  the  hills.  Behind  and  below 
remained  the  buffalo  carcasses,  to  furnish  food  for  the 
wolves,  and  skeletons  for  the  information  of  the  next 
hunters. 

The  Delaware  men  had  resumed  their  guns  and 
saddles  and  customary  clothing.  Black  Beaver  of 
course  took  the  fore.  It  was  wonderful  how  he  guided 
without  any  hesitation,  always  finding  the  easiest  route 
and  steadily  gaining  ground.  But  late  in  the  afternoon 
he  suddenly  halted,  while  traversing  a  little  glade,  or 
park.  Halted  the  single  column,  and  then  Jim  Ned 
and  the  other  men  rode  forward  to  gather  beside  him. 
Terry  curiously  edged  on,  to  learn  what  was  the  mat- 
ter. 

The  Delawares  appeared  to  be  examining  some- 
thing on  the  ground  immediately  under  their  ponies. 
The  ground  here  was  hard,  covered  with  a  short  turf 
dried  by  the  summer  sun,  and  for  the  life  of  him  Terry 
could  not  see  what  they  all  were  looking  at.  For  his 
benefit  General  Jackson  held  up  two  fingers. 

"  One  'urn,  two  'urn  ponies,"  he  said.  "  Go  that 
way,"  and  he  pointed  north.  "  Mebbe  Cheyenne." 

The  Delawares  were  much  interested  in  the  invisible 
tracks.  They  ranged  keenly  about  the  glade,  inspecting 
the  ground — and  next  a  low  call  from  Black  Beaver 
drew  them  all,  Terry  included  (dropping  his  calf  rope), 
a  short  distance  into  the  timber. 

Black  Beaver  had  discovered  a  spring,  and  in  the 


ON  THE  WAR  TRAIL  211 

moist  soil  around  it,  more  prints.  But  these  were 
visible,  even  to  Terry.  There  was  one  distinct  print, 
oblong,  over  which  the  Delawares  pored  earnestly. 

"  Cheyenne,"  they  said,  and  all  nodded. 

Evidently  it  was  a  moccasin  print.  Now  the  Dela- 
wares deliberated  together,  talking  in  low  tones.  Pres- 
ently they  had  decided.  They  all  rode  back  into  the 
glade,  where  the  women,  with  the  packs,  waited. 

Black  Beaver  uttered  a  few  words  to  them. 

"  Delaware  take  trail,  ketch  'urn  Cheyenne/'  re- 
marked General  Jackson,  to  Terry.  "  Boy  stay  with 


women." 


"  Can't  I  go  ?  "  begged  Terry.    "  See  Delaware  ketch 


'urn." 


"  Huh !  "  grunted  the  General,  approving.  "  All 
right.  Leave  'urn  dog,  leave  'urn  calf.  Not  far. 
Ketch  'urn  quick.  Trail  two  hour  old." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  "  queried  Terry. 

General  Jackson  promptly  beckoned  him  aside,  and 
pointed  to  a  bush.  A  twig,  broken  by  the  passage  of 
some  heavy  body,  hung  broken. 

"  No  dead,"  said  the  General — and  sure  enough, 
the  leaves  on  the  twig  were  scarcely  withered. 

The  women  had  dismounted,  as  if  to  make  camp. 
Black  Beaver  was  leading  out,  the  other  men  fell  in 
line  behind  him,  and  with  a  "  Go  back ! "  to  the  dis- 
appointed Shep  Terry  followed.  With  all  these  Dela- 
wares chasing  two  Cheyennes,  it  did  not  seem  to  him 
that  there  would  be  much  danger;  and  besides,  he 
wanted  to  see  what  happened.  No  boy  wearing  a 


212  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

panther  claw  necklace  wished  to  stay  in  camp  with  the 
squaws!    Heap  war-path,  wah! 

Black  Beaver  led  rapidly,  constantly  scrutinizing  the 
ground  before,  and  searching  right  and  left.  At  the  top 
of  every  rise  he  slackened,  peering,  and  he  was  equally 
cautious  when  he  approached  the  open  places.  But 
the  trail  was  as  plain  as  paint  to  him.  The  other  Del- 
a wares  all  rode  watchfully;  and  Terry,  in  the  rear, 
began  to  think  that  maybe  this  was  a  serious  matter. 

The  trail  proved  to  be  a  long  one.  They  rode  and 
they  rode,  without  a  halt,  up  hill  and  down  dale,  never 
minding  the  deer  and  the  rabbits — until,  after  the  sun 
had  set,  in  the  twilight  Black  Beaver  suddenly  stopped 
short. 

The  trail  of  the  two  horses  had  merged  with  a  much 
wider  trail  that  trampled  down  the  brush  and  tore  the 
sod.  It  bore  off  to  the  left.  The  two  horses  must  have 
turned  into  it,  for  their  tracks  did  not  appear  on  the 
other  side. 

The  Delawares  consulted  here  for  five  minutes.  Per- 
haps they  had  run  into  something  that  they  had  not  ex- 
pected. At  any  rate,  this  was  a  new  phase  in  the  situ- 
ation to  date,  and  required  further  planning.  Even  to 
Terry  the  cross  trail  looked  alarming.  Many  horses  had 
passed. 

The  Delawares  carefully  examined,  eying  the  trail 
itself  and  the  outskirts.  Black  Beaver  dismounted,  the 
closer  to  scan. 

"  Heap  Cheyenne,"  quoth  General  Jackson,  to  Terry. 
"  War  party ;  no  dog,  no  lodge,  no  take  'um  squaw ; 
hunt  'urn  scalp,  no  hunt  'urn  buff." 


ON  THE  WAR  TRAIL  213 

Black  Beaver  was  in  the  saddle  again,  and  led  off 
down  the  trail.  The  other  men  followed ;  so  did  Terry. 
The  Delawares  were  going  right  after  them,  were 
they?  Now  this  was  decidedly  a  serious  matter.  To 
chase  two  horses  and  riders  might  not  be  very  danger- 
ous, but  to  chase  a  whole  lot  was  different.  And  a  war 
party,  too! 

Terry  reflected  that  possibly  he  would  have  displayed 
more  good  sense  had  he  stayed  in  camp.  His  mother 
had  not  let  him  come,  to  mix  up  in  any  fights,  except 
to  defend  himself;  and  these  Cheyennes  had  not 
bothered  him  or  the  Delawares  either.  But  of  course 
he  could  not  excuse  himself  and  turn  back  now.  He 
had  to  stick. 

As  anybody  could  see,  this  was  a  fresh  trail.  Broken 
twigs  and  bruised  leaves  and  grass  were  still  sappy ;  and 
the  hoof-prints  in  the  softer  sod  were  still  clean  and 
damp.  The  Delawares  rode  alertly  and  steadily.  Twi- 
light faded,  the  dusk  gathered,  and  there  were  tokens 
ahead  that  the  trail  was  about  to  issue  out  of  the  hills 
and  into  the  Valley  of  the  Republican — or  at  least, 
what  likely  would  be  the  Valley  of  the  Republican, 
above  the  place  of  the  buffalo  hunt. 

The  trail  was  almost  obscured  by  the  dusk.  The 
Delawares  moved  more  slowly,  down  a  long  draw 
which  formed  a  pass  to  the  lower  country.  Under  a 
tree  Black  Beaver  once  more  halted,  and  another  con- 
ference was  held.  It  ended  by  Black  Beaver  riding  on 
alone  and  the  other  men  dismounting  and  sitting  as  if 
to  wait  for  his  return.  They  placidly  sat  enveloped  in 
their  buffalo  robes,  each  holding  the  end  of  his  pony's 


214  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

neck  rope ;  and  Terry  saw  nothing  to  do  but  to  do  like- 
wise. So  he  wrapped  his  blanket  around  him,  and 
squatted.  It  was  no  time  to  ask  questions. 

The  horses  stood,  tired,  with  drooping  heads,  and 
the  darkness  thickened,  while  nobody  uttered  a  word. 
Terry  nodded,  nodded,  tried  to  keep  his  eyes  open,  and 
must  have  fallen  asleep,  after  all,  for  the  next  thing 
that  he  knew,  Black  Beaver  had  returned ;  was  getting 
off  his  horse,  in  the  darkness,  and  joining  the  circle. 
He  may  have  been  gone  several  hours;  there  was  no 
means  of  telling. 

Now  the  Indians  put  their  heads  together,  after  a 
fashion,  and  heard  his  report,  and  grunted  opinions. 
Black  Beaver  occasionally  gestured  and  signed.  All 
seemed  to  understand  him  perfectly — that  is,  all  but 
Terry.  The  discussion  apparently  was  settled  to  sat- 
isfaction. The  Delawares  rose,  unsaddled  (Terry 
promptly  did  the  same),  the  horses  were  staked  out 
with  the  picket  ropes  to  graze,  and  in  the  darkness  strips 
of  dried  venison  were  chewed,  as  supper.  The  strip 
passed  to  Terry  had  been  carried  inside  General  Jack- 
son's shirt,  but  Terry  was  so  hungry  that  he  did  not 
care. 

Then  everybody  went  to  bed. 

"  Sleep  now,  ketch  'urn  Cheyenne  in  mornin',"  re- 
marked the  General,  as  he  stretched  himself  out  in  his 
robe. 

"  Did  Black  Beaver  find  them?  "  ventured  Terry. 

"  Him  see  'um,  to-morrow  we  ketch  'urn,"  replied 
General  Jackson. 

"  Many  ?  "  invited  Terry. 


ON  THE  WAR  TRAIL  215 

"Heaps." 

"Whew!"  thought  Terry,  although  he  didn't  say 
it.  A  pretty  outlook  this  was :  a  big  fight  due,  between 
Indians,  and  he  here  as  a  volunteer !  The  Dela wares 
would  doubtless  expect  a  boy  with  a  panther  claw  neck- 
lace to  enjoy  fighting  as  much  as  they  did,  and  to  help 
them  out — but  if  he  was  killed  or  taken  prisoner,  what 
would  become  of  his  mother  and  the  ranch?  His 
mother  supposed  that  he  was  just  on  a  hunt;  she  and 
Harry  would  much  rather  have  some  meat  and  the  cow 
and  the  calf,  than  a  scalp— and  so,  he  felt,  would  he. 
Shucks !  Why  couldn't  they  all  go  straight  home  and 
leave  the  Cheyennes  alone! 

Terry  cogitated,  without  finding  any  way  out,  until 
he  slept  and  began  to  fight  Cheyennes — had  a  terrible 
battle.  Fortunately  he  was  awakened  in  the  midst  of  it, 
by  the  Delawares  moving  about.  Morning!  The  sky 
was  paling,  the  draw  had  lightened,  and  the  Delawares 
were  stripping  for  action ! 

They  had  taken  off  their  shirts,  and  sitting  with  their 
buffalo  robes  about  their  waists  were  painting  their 
chests  and  faces.  Black  Beaver  had  daubed  his  breast 
with  black  and  white  circles;  and  General  Jackson  al- 
ready had  drawn  curious  red  lines  on  his  cheeks.  Some- 
what worried,  Terry  blinked  and  watched. 

The  Delawares  (including,  of  course,  the  Shaw- 
nee)  finished  their  decorating,  and  gravely  stood,  drop- 
ping their  buffalo  robes  from  their  waists  and  stepping 
out  of  them.  Then  for  the  first  time  General  Jackson 
noted  Terry. 

"  Boy  stay.    Wait  'um  here,"  he  ordered. 


216  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

Without  another  word  they  saddled  up,  and  gun  in 
hand  rode  out,  in  single  file,  Black  Beaver  leading  down 
the  misty  draw.  They  rode  silently,  half  naked,  and  in 
a  minute  were  out  of  sight. 

Terry  was  left  alone,  in  charge  of  the  discarded 
clothing.  He  didn't  know  whether  to  be  disappointed, 
or  not.  No,  he  wasn't  disappointed,  exactly.  He  really 
had  no  business  in  that  fight — but  he'd  like  awfully 
well  to  see  it.  Those  Delawares  were  great  fighters. 
They  were  supposed  to  be  able  to  whip  these  plains 
Indians — although  the  Cheyennes  and  the  Sioux  were 
great  fighters,  too.  "  Heap  "  Cheyennes,  had  said  Gen- 
eral Jackson,  but  they  were  going  to  be  surprised  while 
asleep.  First  thing  they  knew,  the  Delawares  would 
be  right  in  among  them ! 

Terry  listened  and  fidgeted.  How  far  was  that 
Cheyenne  camp,  he  wondered.  If  he  sneaked  down  the 
trail  a  little  way,  maybe  he  could  see  the  fight,  and  then 
he'd  know  how  it  came  out.  So  he  hastily  saddled  and 
bridled  the  colt,  and  started  on  a  little  scout  for  in- 
formation. 

Although  the  draw  was  slowly  clearing,  at  the  ap- 
proach of  day,  the  stars,  above,  had  not  yet  wholly  dis- 
appeared, and  on  either  side  the  timber  lay  darkened 
and  brooding.  Rabbits  hopped,  and  across  the  trail 
slunk  a  coyote  or  prairie  wolf.  As  he  rode  cautiously 
Terry  listened  hard,  expecting  every  moment  to  hear 
guns  and  shouts,  but  never  a  sound  reached  him.  He 
had  ridden  about  half  a  mile,  along  the  trail,  and  the 
draw  soon  would  open  into  whatever  was  before — or 
looked  as  though  it  would  open — when  he  came  to  the 


ON  THE  WAR  TRAIL      ,  217 

place  where  the  Delawares  had  left  the  trail.  Fresh 
pony  tracks,  crushing  the  dew,  branched  off  to  the  left, 
making  around  a  little  rise.  The  foxy  Delawares,  too, 
were  on  the  sneak ! 

Terry  decided  that  he'd  get  there  quicker  if  he  kept 
to  the  main  trail,  as  a  short  cut.  Then  he  could  skip 
back  in  a  hurry.  But  he  had  proceeded  only  a  few  rods 
further,  when  he  saw  more  pony  tracks  branching  off, 
this  time  to  the  right. 

Two  ponies;  might  be  the  very  same  two  that  had 
been  followed  yesterday!  Probably  Black  Beaver,  on 
his  scout  last  evening,  had  not  come  by  the  main  trail 
to  this  point,  and  he  had  missed  these  tracks.  It  was 
a  great  opportunity  to  discover  something.  The  tracks 
invited  aside,  to  a  bunch  of  scattered  timber  at  the  near 
head  of  a  shallow  side  draw. 

Peering,  his  heart  thumping,  Terry  rode  there,  but 
he  did  not  intend  to  go  far.  Just  as  he  reached  the 
grove,  and  was  pausing,  to  crane  his  neck,  he  heard 
among  the  trees  and  brush  a  rustle  and  a  snort — and 
he  glimpsed  a  spotted  pony  staring  at  him.  His  colt 
pricked  its  ears,  and  stared  back ;  Terry  stared  also. 

The  pony  was  stripped,  and  loose — he  moved,  to 
graze,  and  dragged  a  picket  rope.  Terry  got  a  full 
view  of  him — why,  he  was  George  Stanton's  pony — 
George's  spotted  pony,  for  there  was  the  diamond 
brand  on  his  shoulder,  and  he  looked  very  familiar, 
anyway ! 

The  Cheyennes  had  stolen  him.  This  must  be 
looked  into.  If  Terry  could  get  near  enough  to  him  to 
grab  that  trailing  rope — but  hold  on!  watch  out  for 


218  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

the  thieves;  they  might  be  camped  close  at  hand. 
Terry,  eyes  and  ears  alert,  slipped  from  the  colt,  and 
with  gun  ready  tiptoed  forward. 

The  gloom  amidst  the  grove  had  thinned,  and  he 
could  see  clearly  among  the  tree  trunks.  The  pony  was 
suspicious  of  him — did  not  want  to  be  caught,  yet,  and 
moved,  twitching  the  rope  after  him.  Shucks!  Too 
much  noise !  Terry  paused,  glancing  keenly  around — 
and  stiffened.  Beyond,  wrapped  in  buffalo  robes  on 
the  ground  under  a  tree,  figures  were  lying,  asleep. 
They  were  only  about  thirty  yards  away.  And  there 
was  another  pony,  picketed  but  staring. 

Jimmy!  Down  sank  Terry,  heart  thumping  again. 
The  prone  figures  made  two  lumps.  One  lump  had  two 
heads,  the  other  lump  was  covered  completely,  but 
somehow  it  looked  Indian.  Those  two  heads — and 
Terry  carefully  circuited,  stooping,  to  get  a  better 
sight.  One  head  was  yellowish,  with  long  hair;  the 
other  head  was  black — and  he  could  see  the  faces. 
They  were  white!  Why — George  Stanton  and  Virgie 
Stanton,  sure  as  sure !  And  they  were  captives. 

Never  had  Terry  thought  so  fast,  as  in  the  next 
minute.  He  couldn't  shoot  blindly  into  that  other 
buffalo  robe;  he  didn't  know  who  was  inside  and  no- 
body likes  to  shoot  somebody  asleep.  In  fact,  Terry 
didn't  desire  to  shoot  anybody.  But  he  must  get  George 
and  Virgie  away,  out  of  there,  before  the  figure  in  the 
other  robe  woke;  and  if  he  didn't  hurry,  the  battle 
would  break  loose  and  that  would  wake  folks  in  a  jiffy. 

First  he  tiptoed  swiftly  back  to  the  colt  and  tied  the 
bridle  lines  to  a  bush,  to  make  sure  of  him.  Then  he 


•    ON  THE  WAR  TRAIL  219 

stole  forward,  for  the  figures — put  the  trunk  of  their 
tree  between  him  and  them,  and  sneaked  until  he 
reached  it.  Yes,  George  and  Virgie  those  were,  sound 
asleep  and  now  almost  within  reach  of  his  hand,  on 
the  other  side  of  the  tree  trunk.  The  figure  under  the 
second  buffalo  robe  had  not  stirred,  either. 

Pshaw,  if  George  only  would  wake.  But  if  he  was 
touched  he  might  wake  with  a  jump,  and  Virgie  would 

cry,  and !  And  if  he  was  called  to,  the  other 

figure  might  hear.  Let's  see — and  suddenly  Terry  had 
it.  He'd  rattle!  He'd  rattle  his  Brotherhood  token, 
of  course.  That  was  the  signal  agreed  on.  George 
would  recognize,  and  if  the  other  figure  heard  he 
wouldn't  suspect  anything  special.  Rattlesnakes  were 
common,  to  Indians. 

Terry  cautiously  extracted  his  snake  rattles  from 
under  his  shirt,  and  squeezing  them  tightly  so  as  not 
to  sound  them  too  soon,  extended  his  hand  and  gently 
rattled  in  George's  ear.  George's  eyes  popped  open — 
he  blinked,  startled — and  he  saw  Terry  motioning  at 
him  from  behind  the  tree.  He  looked  funny,  for  a 
moment,  but  he  didn't  move;  and  Terry  beckoned. 

George  scowled  and  shook  his  head. 

"  Can't,"  he  formed,  with  his  lips. 

"  Come  on !  "  urged  Terry. 

"  Can't,"  answered  George — and  on  the  instant  the 
timber  echoed  to  a  vigorous  chorus  of  gun-shots  and 
wild,  shrill  war-whoops!  The  Delawares  and  the 
Cheyennes  were  fighting ! 

That  was  what  Terry  had  feared.  He  boldly  sprang 
out  with  his  gun,  and  only  just  in  time,  for  the  other 


220  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

buffalo  robe  flew  apart,  as  the  figure  inside  it  scrambkd 
to  stand  up.  "  Bang !  "  exploded  one  barrel  of  Terry's 
gun,  into  the  air — and  he  yelled  with  all  his  might,  a 
regular  Indian  yell. 

The  figure  was  that  of  an  Indian;  and  how  he  did 
run !  At  a  single  bound,  like  a  deer  breaking  covert,  he 
was  into  the  air  and  next  into  the  brush — doubling  and 
crashing  through  amidst  the  trees. 

Whooping,  Terry  followed,  a  few  steps,  and  sent  the 
contents  of  the  second  barrel  rattling  after  him,  to 
keep  him  moving.  He  was  Thunder  Horse,  the  Kiowa. 
Only  a  glimpse  of  his  ugly  face  had  been  given,  but 
that  was  enough. 

Terry  ran  back  to  George  and  Virgie.  He  found 
them  sitting  up,  George  pale  and  Virgie  frightened 
half  to  death. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

SHEP  TO  THE  FORE  AGAIN 

"  Get  up,  quick !  "  bade  Terry,  breathless.  "  Hurry, 
George,  before  he  comes  back." 

"  I  can't,"  retorted  George.    "  We're  tied." 

So  he  was — hands  and  feet,  as  he  kicked  off  the 
buffalo  robe.  And  so  was  Virgie.  She  began  to  cry. 

"  Be  quiet,  Virgie,"  ordered  George. 

"  Oh,  shucks !  "  exclaimed  Terry ;  and  down  on  his 
knees  he  flopped  and  slashed  with  his  knife  at  the 
thongs  which  bound  wrists  and  ankles. 

"  Did  you  hit  him  ?  "  queried  George,  as  he  tottered 
up  and  lifted  Virgie. 

"  Don't  think  so." 

"  Wish  you  had.  Didn't  he  leg  it,  though !  What's 
that  other  shooting  ?  " 

"  The  Delawares  are  fighting  the  Cheyennes.  We 
thought  you  were  a  Cheyenne.  Wait  till  I  load." 

"  Where's  my  horse  ?  "  demanded  George.  "  We've 
got  to  have  a  horse.  He  ran  off.  I'll  take  this  other." 
And  for  it  he  hobbled. 

"  All  right.  Make  yonder,"  directed  Terry,  at  top 
speed  reloading  his  shot-gun. 

George  grabbed  up  the  buffalo  robe  (he  never 
221 


222  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

missed  much,  did  George!)  and  seized  the  picket  rope 
of  Thunder  Horse's  pony. 

"  Here !  You  take  this  robe,  Virgie,"  he  ordered. 
"  I  don't  leave  my  saddle,  you  bet !  " 

Lugging  saddle  and  bridle,  and  tugging  the  pony, 
with  Virgie  stoutly  dragging  the  buffalo  robe  and 
Terry  forming  rear-guard — his  eyes  and  ears  searching 
for  sign  of  Thunder  Horse  sneaking  back — they  fled 
for  the  colt,  and  the  trail  beyond.  The  spotted  pony 
snorted  as  they  approached  him.  Lucky  that  the  colt 
was  tied. 

"  Where  now  ? "  demanded  George,  panting,  his 
eyes  snapping. 

"  You  saddle  up — any  way,  just  so  the  saddle  sticks 
on,"  puffed  Terry.  "  Got  to  ride  up  the  trail  about 
half  a  mile — to  camp." 

He  watched  for  Thunder  Horse  among  the  trees — 
didn't  see  him — while  George  slung  the  saddle  on  over 
the  buffalo  robe,  hastily  fastened  it,  after  a  fashion, 
clapped  on  the  bridle  without  inserting  the  bit  (any 
old  way  did),  lifted  Virgie  aboard  and  clambered  to 
place  before  her. 

Instantly  Terry  was  aboard  the  colt,  and  back- 
tracking for  the  trail  in  the  draw.  Once  into  the  open, 
away  they  pelted,  up  the  draw — and  with  a  whinny 
the  spotted  pony  followed  after. 

"  Dandy's  coming,  too,"  piped  Virgie.  "  Will  that 
mean  Injun  catch  us?  " 

"  Can't.  He  hasn't  any  horse,"  encouraged  George. 
"Good  for  Dandy!" 

"  Won't  he  run  and  catch  us?  "  persisted  Virgie. 


SHEP  TO  THE  FORE  AGAIN          223 

"No.    Terry'll  shoot  him." 

"  I  lost  my  sunbonnet,"  whimpered  little  Virgie. 

"  We  can't  get  it  now.  You  can  keep  this  buffalo 
robe,"  comforted  George. 

"  How  long  did  he  have  you  ?  Where'd  he  find 
you?  "  asked  Terry,  as  they  galloped  on,  George  striv- 
ing to  urge  his  pony  alongside. 

"  Just  since  yesterday  noon.  Jumped  out  on  us  on 
our  way  back  from  Manhattan  and  hustled  us  over 
here.  I  didn't  have  eggs  or  anything  to  beat  him  off 
with." 

"  Any  Cheyennes  with  him  ?  " 

"  No." 

"But  the  Delawares  said  those  were  Cheyenne 
moccasin  tracks:  two  ponies  and  Cheyenne  moccasin 
prints." 

"  Guess  he  must  be  wearing  Cheyenne  moccasins, 
then.  He  had  on  new  ones." 

They  had  reached  the  night's  camp  under  the  tree. 
The  robes  and  shirts  were  here,  just  as  left.  Terry 
reined  in  the  colt  and  tumbled  off. 

"  We'd  better  stop  here,"  he  ordered. 

"Thought  you  said  'camp',"  uttered  George. 
"  Where  are  your  Delawares  ?  " 

"  Out  fighting  the  Cheyennes.    Got  to  wait  for  'em." 

"  But  supposing  Thunder  Horse  comes.  He  might 
sneak  up  on  us,  with  his  gun,  as  soon  as  he  finds  out 
how  he  was  attacked." 

"  Then  we  ought  to  tie  our  horses  and  climb  a  tree," 
proposed  Terry.  "We  can  see  from  there;  and  he 
wouldn't  think  to  look  up  into  the  trees." 


224  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

"  All  right.  See  him  first,  too,  and  pepper  him," 
agreed  George — who  had  no  small  reason  to  be  indig- 
nant. "  Wish  I  could  catch  Dandy.  But  he'll  stay 
'round" 

They  tied  the  two  horses,  boosted  Virgie  to  the  first 
branch  of  the  tree,  whence  she  climbed  like  a  squirrel, 
George  swarmed  after,  and  handing  up  his  gun  Terry 
followed.  Now  they  were  safe  above  ground,  and  con- 
cealed by  the  leafy  boughs  could  wait  and  listen  and 
peer. 

"  The  fighting's  quit,"  whispered  George. 

So  it  had,  barring  a  single  shot,  now  and  then,  in  the 
distance.  Not  another  sound  was  to  be  heard.  The 
horses  dozed  below.  The  sun  had  risen  and  was  strik- 
ing through  with  his  first  beams. 

"  How  many  Delawares  ?  "  whispered  George. 

"  Five." 

"  How  many  Cheyennes  ?  " 

"  Heaps.    You  saw  that  trail." 

"  Wonder  who  licked." 

"  Delawares,  of  course." 

"I  want  to  go  home,"  piped  Virgie. 

"  Sh!  "  cautioned  George.    "  Injun  hear  you!  " 

But  which  had  licked,  reflected  Terry.  Supposing 
it  was  the  Cheyennes !  And  supposing  they'd  come  this 
way,  searching  for  more  Delawares!  Huh!  They'd 
see  the  horses,  and  look  up  into  the  tree,  and  what 
would  he  and  George  do  ? 

"  Hungry,"  piped  Virgie. 

"Sh,  now!"  warned  George,  again.  "Don't  be- 
lieve Thunder  Horse  is  trailing  us,"  he  whispered,  hope- 
fully, to  Terry.  "  You  scared  him  out." 


SHEP  TO  THE  FORE  AGAIN          225 

"  We  can't  tell,"  whispered  back  Terry. 

"  That  was  awful  smart  of  you,  anyway,  to  use  that 
rattle,"  mused  George.  "  I  knew  right  away  it  was  a 
Brotherhood  signal." 

They  sat  silent,  waiting.  All  shooting  had  ceased, 
and  the  draw  and  timber  basked  peacefully  in  the  morn- 
ing sun.  A  belated  rabbit  hopped  about,  in  plain  sight, 
near,  browsing  and  scratching. 

"  There  isn't  any  Indian  down  there  or  that  rabbit 
wouldn't  be  so  bumptious,"  reasoned  George.  "  Horses 
don't  smell  anything,  either." 

"  Guess  that's  so,"  admitted  Terry.  "  Look  out — 
Virgie's  going  to  sleep.  She'll  fall  off." 

"  I'll  hold  her  on,"  and  George  steadied  her. 

The  minutes  passed. 

"  Listen !  "  whispered  Terry. 

Somebody  was  coming — several  somebodies.  Soft 
hoof  thuds  could  be  heard,  down  the  draw;  voices — 
and  laughter.  Rounding  a  clump  of  high  brush  the 
Delawares  appeared,  Black  Beaver  leading,  followed 
by  General  Jackson  and  the  rest  driving  before  them 
half  a  dozen  loose  horses.  They  all  were  there,  the 
five  of  them,  and  they  acted  with  the  good  humor  of 
victors. 

"That's  they!"  yelped  Terry.  "Now  we're  all 
right.  Come  on." 

Black  Beaver  had  instantly  sighted  George's  spotted 
pony,  and  the  pony  of  Thunder  Horse,  besides  the  colt 
— and  halted  sharply,  in  alarm.  But  out  from  the  tree 
plumped  Terry,  gladly  landing  a-sprawl;  down  slid 
George,  helping  the  sleepy  Virgie. 


226  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

"Where  ketch  'um?"  demanded  General  Jackson. 

"  Ketch  'um  from  Thunder  Horse,"  informed  Terry. 
"  He  ketch  'um  first,  I  ketch  'um  next." 

"  Where  him  ?  "  demanded  General  Jackson,  his  eyes 
darting  in  search.  "  Mebbe  you  kill  'um  ?  " 

"No.    Run." 

"  That's  his  pony,  though,"  piped  Virgie.  "  He  ran 
off  because  he  was  afraid  and  we  took  his  pony  and 
his  buffalo  robe  and  we  aren't  going  to  give  them  back 
because  he  stole  us." 

"  Did  you  lick  the  Cheyennes?  "  asked  George. 

"  Humph !  Cheyenne  run,  too,"  grunted  the  Gen- 
eral. 

"  I  don't  see  any  scalps,  do  you  ?  "  said  George,  to 
Terry. 

There  was  no  time  here  for  explanations.  The  Del- 
awares  now  were  evidently  in  a  great  hurry.  They 
speedily  gathered  their  few  belongings,  George  man- 
aged to  lay  his  hands  on  Dandy's  trailing  picket  rope. 
With  George  bareback,  Virgie  on  the  Thunder  Horse 
pony  and  Terry  on  his  colt,  the  whole  party  lined  out 
for  the  spot  where  the  Delaware  women  were  waiting. 

But  this  gave  Terry  and  George  an  opportunity  to 
swap  stories.  George  thought  that  Terry  should  have 
killed  some  buffalo,  but  he  agreed  that  the  cow  and  the 
calf  were  a  great  find. 

"  Expect  she's  some  emigrant  cow  who  strayed  off 
and  joined  the  buffalo,"  he  said.  "  Your  mother'll  be 
mighty  glad,  won't  she !  Didn't  you  get  anything  else, 
on  your  hunt?  " 

"  Got  a  big  buck — shot  him  running,  too.    I  could 


SHEP  TO  THE  FORE  AGAIN          227 

have  got  a  doe  that  General  Jackson  bleated  for,  but  I 
wouldn't  shoot  at  her.  Then  the  General  shot,  and 
missed;  and  that  made  him  mad,  so  he  went  off  by 
himself  and  shot  one  anyhow." 

"What's  bleating?"  queried  George. 

"  Fll  show  you.  We'll  make  a  bleater  and  learn 
how.  Say,"  Terry  added.  "  Expect  your  folks  will 
be  mighty  glad  to  see  you  and  Virgie." 

"  I  guess  so"  nodded  George,  gravely.  "  That  Ki- 
owa  must  have  counted  on  holding  us  captive  for 
ransom.  Of  course  I  couldn't  get  away  from  him 
without  Virgie.  When  he  turned  us  into  that  big 
Indian  trail  I  thought  we  were  goners,  sure,  but  he  just 
followed  it  far  enough  to  spy  out  who  they  were  and 
then  he  quit  it  and  made  his  own  camp.  He's  a  sort 
of  an  outlaw." 

"  It's  lucky  you  weren't  in  that  Cheyenne  camp," 
reasoned  Terry,  "or  when  the  Delawares  attacked 
it  you'd  have  been  carried  off  scooting." 

"  Yes,  and  it's  lucky  you  found  us  before  the  battle 
broke  loose,  or  you  might  not  have  found  us  at  all. 
You  were  smart  to  hustle.  Maybe  pa' 11  let  me  get  my 
pistol  fixed,  now,  with  a  real  hammer.  Then  I'd 
like  to  see  any  old  Kiowa  tackle  me"  and  Georg^ 
wagged  his  head  vengefully.  "  I  wasn't  afraid,  though, 
except  for  Virgie.  She's  too  little  to  join  the  Injuns. 
I  could  have  run  away,  the'  first  chance  I  got." 

The  Delaware  women  were  waiting.  They  did  not 
seem  at  all  excited.  They  had  meat  cooking,  as  if  they 
knew  that  their  warriors  would  be  hungry,  and  they 
only  broadly  smiled  when  they  saw  George  and  Virgie, 


228  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

and  the  captured  horses.  Shep  was  the  excited  one. 
For  him  it  had  been  an  anxious  wait. 

Now  everybody,  including  the  hungry  Virgie,  whom 
Mrs.  Black  Beaver  at  once  took  in  charge,  fell  to 
and  ate.  From  what  Terry  could  gather,  the  battle  was 
a  great  victory  for  the  Delawares — although  as  far 
as  he  learned  nobody  had  been  hurt.  The  Chey- 
ennes  had  scampered  in  a  panic,  when  they  were  sur- 
prised, and  the  Delawares  had  seized  some  loose  ponies 
and  had  wisely  retired  while  they  could. 

Now  after  breakfast  (or  was  it  dinner?)  they  washed 
off  their  war  paint,  and  Black  Beaver  led  out  again,  for 
home. 

"  Hope  we  strike  our  place,"  voiced  Terry,  as  the 
cavalcade  filed  down  into  the  Valley  of  the  Blue. 

"  And  then  go  on  down  to  ours,"  added  George. 
"  Won't  our  folks'  eyes  stick  out !  " 

And  indeed,  with  the  Indians,  and  the  loose  horses, 
and  the  laden  horses,  and  the  cow  and  the  half -buffalo 
calf,  and  the  two  boys,  and  Virgie  (who  led  the  calf,  as 
a  privilege),  the  procession  made  quite  a  sight. 

Sure  enough,  toward  evening  the  Richards'  ranch 
was  sighted,  before;  and  while  Terry's  mother  stood 
watching,  from  the  cabin  door,  and  Harry  came  limp- 
ing hastily  from  the  chores,  the  successful  party  bore 
straight  for  the  yard. 

"  For  goodness'  sake !  "  exclaimed  Terry's  mother, 
as  they  halted  and  she  hurried  forward.  "  You  are 
back,  aren't  you !  Oh,  but  I'm  glad !  Where  did  you 
find  George  and  Virgie  ?  " 

"  Where'd  you  get  the  cow  ?  "  called  Harry.  "  And 
that  calf!" 


SHEP  TO  THE  FORE  AGAIN          229 

"  Found  'em.  Found  George  and  Virgie,  too.  I'll 
tell  you  all  about  it." 

"  A  bad  Injun  had  us,"  piped  Virgie.  "  And  Terry 
scared  him  away." 

"I  declare!" 

There  was  time  for  only  a  kiss  and  a  hug ;  the  Del- 
awares  were  unpacking  some  of  the  meat,  as  if  wishing 
to  be  away.  With  Terry,  Harry  helped  pile  it  at  one 
side.  From  his  saddle,  General  Jackson  patted  Terry 
on  the  shoulder. 

"  Heap  boy,"  he  said.  "  Ketch  'urn  cow,  ketch  'urn 
calf,  ketch  'urn  white  boy,  ketch  'urn  white  girl,  scare 
Jum  Kiowa.  Go  again,  mebbe." 

When  the  Delawares  rode  off,  escorting  George  and 
Virgie,  they  left  a  lot  of  venison  and  buffalo  meat,  three 
buffalo  robes,  the  cow  and  the  calf,  of  course,  and  at 
parting  General  Jackson  thrust  a  small  object  into 
Terry's  hand. 

"Learn  'urn  bleat,  then  ketch  'urn  deer  easy,"  he 
spoke. 

It  was  his  bleater.  He  may  have  heard  Terry  and 
George  talking.  Terry  was  immensely  glad  to  have  it, 
for  he  wasn't  certain  that  he  could  make  one  without 
a  model. 

"  What's  that,  Terry?  "  queried  his  mother. 

"  It's  a  deer  call,  ma.  I'll  show  you — "  proffered 
Terry,  excited. 

But  his  mother  uttered  a  little  shriek. 

"  Don't  put  that  to  your  mouth,  Terry !  Please 
don't!  I'll  give  it  a  good  wash  with  soap  and  water. 

All  right.    But  Terry  believed  that  if  his  mother  had 


230  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

been  out  with  Indians  for  a  while,  and  had  done  as 
they  had  done,  she  wouldn't  be  so  particular. 

With  the  Del^wares  George  and  Virgie  had  ridden 
gaily  down  the  valley,  for  home.  Now  the  booty  of 
the  hunt  was  to  be  attended  to,  at  once.  The  meat  and 
the  robes  were  welcome,  but  the  greatest  prize  was  the 
cow  and  the  calf.  When  they  had  been  safely  landed 
in  the  corral,  for  the  night,  Terry's  mother  was  still 
exclaiming  over  them. 

"  To  think,  that  we  have  a  cow — at  least,  till  the 
owner  claims  her!  The  calf  is  old  enough  to  be 
weaned ;  and  then  there'll  be  plenty  of  milk,  and  I  can 
make  butter !  Oh,  Terry,  how  did  you  ever  do  it?  " 

This  was  part  of  the  long  story  to  be  told  at  supper. 
In  the  evening  Mr.  Stanton  rode  over,  to  thank  Terry 
for  the  prompt  rescue  of  George  and  Virgie.  He  and 
Harry  looked  the  cow  over;  decided  that  there  was 
small  chance  of  anybody  claiming  her,  at  this  late  day ; 
and  that  perhaps  the  calf  could  be  broken  to  pull.  He 
was  a  sturdy  little  rascal;  he'd  probably  always  look 
like  a  buffalo. 

So,  with  a  cow  and  calf  added  to  its  stock,  the 
ranch  felt  very  prosperous.  The  hay  and  corn  and  oats 
were  all  doing  well;  the  garden  was  booming — such 
tender  beans  and  sweet  beets  and  young  potatoes ;  there 
was  the  bee  tree,  waiting  to  contribute  to  "  milk  and 
honey  " ;  and  there  was  the  deer  bleat,  in  case  the  table 
ran  entirely  out  of  meat. 

Terry  was  not  certain  that  he  could  stand  it  to  shoot 
a  mother  doe,  after  he  had  called  her  up;  seemed  to 
him  like  murder;  but  he  and  George  were  anxious  to 


SHEP  TO  THE  FORE  AGAIN          231 

learn  how  to  bleat,  if  only  for  fun.  Harry,  who  was 
clever,  made  a  bleater  for  George,  patterned  on  the  Gen- 
eral Jackson  bleater,  and  they  all  tried,  in  spare  mo- 
ments, until  Terry's  mother  and  George's  mother  de- 
clared that  the  sounds  were  worse  than  a  flock  of 
geese. 

August  arrived,  and  opened  scorching  hot.  The  oats 
were  nodding,  the  corn  was  ripened,  the  hay  was  ready 
to  cut.  Meanwhile  Harry  and  Terry  were  busy  with 
saw  and  ax  down  in  the  timber.  But  before  pitching 
into  the  hay,  Harry  decided  that  they'd  cut  down  the 
bee  tree,  and  have  that  much  fun,  at  least.  There'd  be 
no  time,  a  little  later. 

George  rode  over,  on  the  Indian  pony,  and  Virgie 
with  him,  on  Dandy  (who  was  now  hers) ,  for  the  event. 
But  Virgie,  when  she  understood  that  these  were 
"  stinging  "  bees,  and  might  object  to  being  robbed  of 
their  honey,  stayed  at  the  house.  With  the  ax,  and  all 
the  pails  and  pans  they  could  gather,  the  three  others 
trudged  down  to  the  timber. 

The  timber  was  cool,  as  compared  with  the  prairie. 
The  bees  were  as  busy  as  ever,  storing  their  honey. 
Harry  surveyed  their  hole,  and  the  trunk,  and  scratched 
his  nose. 

"  If  s  hollow,  and  will  die  anyway,"  he  remarked. 
"  We  can  use  it  for  fire- wood.  And  the  bees  have  three 
months  yet  to  rustle  in.  So  down  she  comes.  You 
boys  be  making  a  smudge.  I'm  going  to  fall  her  in 
that  open  space." 

He  lustily  swung  the  ax — every  stroke  biting  out  a 


232  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

chip.  The  tree,  echoing  hollowly,  trembled,  and  the 
bees  above  buzzed,  much  annoyed. 

"  Get  a  lot  of  rotten  wood  and  damp  stuff,"  bade 
George.  "  I'll  start  the  fire.  And  when  she  falls,  make 
a  rush  for  her  with  the  smudge." 

"How?" 

"  Carry  the  fire  to  the  hole  on  a  piece  of  bark,"  said 
George.  "  But  we  want  to  be  lively." 

"  Oh,  you'll  be  lively  enough,"  panted  Harry.  "  I'd 
advise  you  to  have  some  branches  handy,  till  the  smoke 
gets  to  working." 

The  fire  was  started  on  a  large  piece  of  wet  bark; 
the  punky  stuff  was  made  ready.  Thwack,  thwack, 
sounded  the  methodical  blows  of  Harry's  ax.  He  had 
notched  the  tree  on  the  side  toward  which  it  was  to  fall, 
and  was  sending  wedge-shaped  chips  flying. 

"  He's  a  first-class  chopper,  isn't  he ! "  praised 
George,  who  had  viewed  him  with  critical  eye. 

"  There's  nothing  like  knowing  how,"  panted  Harry. 

In  the  heart  the  tree  was  soft;  and  having  cut  half- 
way through,  Harry  changed  to  the  opposite  side.  Al- 
ready the  tree  was  creaking  ominously. 

"  Watch  out.  Stand  aside,"  cautioned  Harry,  as  he 
plied  the  ax.  "  When  she  falls  she'll  fall  with  a  rush." 

"  Right  in  the  open  place  ?  "  asked  Terry. 

"  Right  in  the  open  place,  unless  she  catches  and 
swerves.  Don't  you  take  any  chances." 

"  And  be  ready  with  the  smudge,"  reminded  George. 

The  tree  began  to  lean — crackled  sharply — Harry 
delivered  one  last  blow  and  sprang  back — the  tree  wav- 
ered— settled — and  down  it  came,  with  a  magnificent 


SHEP  TO  THE  FORE  AGAIN          233 

crash,  leaving  a  trail  of  bees  in  the  air.  It  landed  smack 
in  the  open  place.  Shep,  who  had  stretched  himself  to 
sleep,  up-jumped  in  alarm,  but  forward  dashed  the  two 
boys,  branches  in  one  hand,  fire  and  punk  in  the  other. 

"  Where's  the  hole  ?  "  cried  George,  holding  the  fire. 
"  I  see  it!  Look  out  for  the  bees.  Oh,  jiminy!  Pro- 
tect me,  can't  you  ?  You  swat  while  I  smudge." 

There  was  nothing  cowardly  about  George ;  no.  Into 
the  boughs  he  charged,  tripping  and  diving,  and  reck- 
lessly planted  his  barkful  of  fire  beside  the  hole.  The 
bees  were  clustered  thick  about  it,  and  were  swarming 
out  and  buzzing  wildly. 

"  Swat  'em !  Swat  'em !  "  implored  George,  stooping 
low  and  blowing  the  fire  and  piling  on  smudge  stuff. 

Terry,  standing  over,  to  protect,  valiantly  lashed 
around  with  his  leafy  branch.  Harry,  panting  and 
resting,  cheered  laughingly — while  Shep,  who  also  had 
rushed  in,  looking  for  a  coon  or  a  squirrel,  uttered  a 
sudden  yelp  and  beat  retreat,  his  tail  between  his  legs. 

However,  the  battle  with  the  bees  was  soon  over. 
The  great  majority  of  the  bees  stayed  high  aloft,  look- 
ing for  their  hole  which  had  so  miraculously  vanished. 
Those  lower  avoided  the  smudge  smoke;  and  those 
about  the  hole  fell  off,  to  wander  stupidly  or  else  to 
dart  away  in  disgust. 

"Didn't  get  stung  once;  did  you?"  asked  George, 
venturing  to  straighten  up. 

"  Only  once  on  the  ear,"  answered  Terry.  "  But  I 
didn't  feel  it.  Feel  it  now,  though." 

Harry  had  advanced  into  the  smoke,  and  began  to 
chop  open  the  hole.  At  the  first  stroke,  his  ax  sank  in 


234  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

to  the  butt ;  and  by  driving  wedges  they  easily  split  the 
thin  core.  The  hollow  extended  for  six  feet  and  was 
packed  with  comb — some  of  it  black  and  old  and  waxy, 
but  the  greater  portion  oozing  with  the  lucent  sweet- 
ness. 

"  Cracky !  There  must  be  several  bushels  of  it !  " 
exclaimed  George. 

They  scooped  comb  and  honey  both  into  their  pails 
and  pans,  and  made  triumphant  procession  back  up  to 
the  house;  emptied  their  loads  into  a  wash  boiler,  and 
toiled  down  for  more.  By  the  time  they  had  pretty 
well  scraped  the  cavity,  they  all  were  hot  and  sticky, 
not  to  speak  of  being  thoroughly  smoked. 

"  I  feel  like  a  sugar  cured  ham,"  asserted  George. 
"  I'd  like  to  jump  in  that  creek,  if  I  wasn't  afraid  I'd 
melt." 

"  Good !  "  approved  Harry.  "  We'll  all  take  a  swim. 
Got  time  enough  before  dinner.  That's  the  only  way 
we'll  ever  get  clean.  You  fellows  be  peeling  off,  and 
I'll  take  the  rest  of  the  honey  on  up  so  Mother  Richards 
can  be  straining  it,  and  come  back." 

That  was  the  way  with  Harry:  he  always  urged 
the  others  on  to  have  fun,  while  he  finished  the  work. 

Away  he  limped,  lugging  the  two  pails;  and  with  a 
"  Come  on  "  to  George  and  Shep,  Terry  struck  through 
the  timber  for  the  creek.  The  water  called  powerfully. 

The  best  swimming-place  was  about  300  yards  dis- 
tant, where  the  creek  made  a  bend  into  the  timber ;  with 
grassy  banks  in  sun  and  in  shade,  one  bank  high  and 
level,  the  other  shelving  to  gravelly  shallows.  A  fel- 
low could  swim  and  dive  in  the  water  up  to  his  neck, 


SHEP  TO  THE  FORE  AGAIN          235 

along  the  high  bank,  or  he  could  tear  about  and  run 
races  through  the  shallows.  So  it  was  a  splendid  swim- 
ing  hole. 

They  peeled  off  in  a  hurry,  on  the  high  bank,  and 
with  a  running  jump  plumped  in.  Ah,  but  this  was 
glorious.  The  water  was  just  right.  Shep  dropped 
down  near  the  clothes,  in  the  shade,  and  took  another 
snooze. 

They  had  been  in  the  creek  about  half  an  hour,  do- 
ing all  kinds  of  things,  when  Terry  suddenly  remem- 
bered. 

"  Wonder  why  Harry  doesn't  come." 

"  Dunno,"  sputtered  George,  standing  up.  "  Must 
be  helping  your  mother.  That's  like  him." 

"Want  to  go  out?" 

"  No.    He  said  he'd  come." 

"  I  tell  you,"  spoke  Terry :  "  let's  put  on  our  shirts 
and  go  up  to  the  deer  drinking  place  and  bleat.  He'll 
know  where  we  are." 

"  Haven't  got  my  bleater,"  objected  George.  "  It's 
at  home." 

"  I've  got  mine,"  persisted  Terry.  "  I've  learned 
how  to  bleat  fine." 

"Shucks!"  scoffed  George.  "You  can't  fool  a 
deer  now.  The  fawns  are  too  big  to  bleat  much.  There 
wouldn't  be  any  deer  around,  either,  after  this  noise." 

"  There  might,"  persisted  Terry.  "  They  lie  close 
this  time  of  day,  and  you  can  hardly  budge  them.  And 
some  fawns  are  born  late." 

So  they  hauled  on  their  shirts,  Terry  fished  his 
bleater  out  of  hi*  trousers  pocket,  and  bare-legged 


236  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

they  went  up  to  the  deer  drinking  place.  Shep  dawdled 
after,  to  see  what  was  going  on. 

At  a  low  spot  the  deer  had  made  a  narrow  trail  to 
the  water's  edge,  where  they  stole  down  out  of  the  tim- 
ber and  brush,  to  drink,  and  to  cross  over  if  they  felt 
like  it.  The  boys  crouched  behind  a  low  tree,  and  Terry 
began  to  bleat  his  best. 

The  timber  was  quiet.  The  bleat  sounded  clearly, 
and  to  Terry  very  natural — almost  like  General  Jack- 
son's bleat.  But  George  was  particular. 

"  That's  not  it,"  he  whispered.    "  You're  too  loud." 

"  Wait,  now,"  bade  Terry.  He  modulated  the  notes, 
a  little — and  struck  the  exact  pitch.  Never  had  he 
bleated  so  well. 

"  Let  me  try,"  invited  George,  in  low  tone,  as  Terry 
finally  paused  to  rest  his  mouth.  Terry  obligingly 
passed  the  bleater  to  him.  George  did  well,  too.  If 
there  was  any  mother  deer  near,  she'd  certainly  be 
interested. 

"  Got  to  make  it  sound  frightened.  Here — I'll  show 
you,"  whispered  Terry,  taking  the  bleater  again. 

He  bleated  industriously.  Now  and  then  he  quit, 
while  they  peered  and  listened.  They  bleated  and  re- 
bleated  for  some  time.  No  deer. 

"  Let's  go,"  whispered  George.  "  Flies  are  eating 
me  up,"  and  he  cautiously  scratched  his  bare  shanks. 
"  Jiminy,  how  they  bite !  " 

But  Terry  suddenly  nudged  him. 

"  Sh !    One's  coming !    Look  at  Shep." 

Shep,  who  had  been  sleepily  gazing  about,  and  nod- 
ding between  times,  beside  them,  had  raised  his  head. 


SHEP  TO  THE  FORE  AGAIN 

His  ears  were  pricked — he  was  sniffing  and  staring, 
and  the  bristles  on  his  back  were  rising. 

Terry  bleated  more  agonizedly.  This  was  exciting. 
No  deer  was  in  sight,  but  Shep  certainly  smelled  some- 
thing— and,  yes,  he  saw  something,  right  yonder.  His 
eyes  were  fixed  and  wide.  They  glowed,  and  he  slowly 
stood— stiffened,  with  every  hair  erect.  He  growled, 
low  and  deep. 

"  Shep !    Down !  "  whispered  Terry.    "  No !  " 

George,  too,  stiffened,  gazing  where  Shep  was  gaz- 
ing. 

"  Terry !  "  he  gasped,  under  his  breath.  "  Oh,  gee ! 
Look !  I  see  it !  Quit — it's  a  panther.  We've  called  a 
panther!" 

Terry  saw,  also — his  bleater  silent  at  his  lips.  Less 
than  thirty  yards  before  and  a  little  at  one  side,  an 
unmistakable  long  tawny  shape,  close  to  the  ground, 
slunk  swiftly  from  tree  to  tree,  heading  straight  for 
them.  He  was  seeking  the  fawn. 

With  frightened  impulse  Terry  sprang  upright,  and 
shouted  frantically,  waving  his  arms.  The  panther  mo- 
mentarily stared,  gave  a  great  leap  and  disappeared  into 
a  bunch  of  brush.  Shep  whined  impatient. 

"  Is  he  gone  ?  "  queried  George. 

No — there  he  was,  closer;  slinking  as  elusive  as  a 
shadow,  from  covert  to  covert,  bent  upon  locating  that 
fawn.  Vainly  George  joined  with  Terry  in  shouting. 
He  disappeared — perhaps  he  was  gone,  at  last;  but 
watch  Shep — Shep  still  saw  him;  and  there  he  was, 
again,  boldly  in  the  open.  He  had  made  a  half-circuit 
of  the  ambush,  had  determined  that  no  two  boys,  bare- 


238  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

legged  in  their  shirts,  should  balk  him  of  the  fawn; 
and  crouching  flat,  stomach  to  sod,  was  creeping  for- 
ward. 

He  was  almost  within  striking  distance.  They  could 
see  his  eyes  shine  greenly;  his  fangs  bared  in  a  snarl 
whenever  they  shouted;  his  long  tail  twitch  and  his 
hind  quarters  quiver  while  his  claws  gripped  the 
ground. 

"  Shall  we  run?  "  asked  George,  striving  to  hold  his 
voice  steady. 

"  No ;  he'd  catch  us."  For  what  chance  had  two 
half-naked  boys,  with  a  panther  at  their  backs? 

"  Make  for  the  creek." 

rp«  

"  Shep ! "  implored  Terry,  frenzied  with  new  fear. 
"Here!  Shep!" 

"  Oh,  thunder !  "  gasped  George. 

But  they  could  do  nothing.  Out  had  stalked  Shep — 
brave  old  Shep — and  stiff-legged,  head  and  tail  low, 
the  bristles  on  his  back  up-standing  like  a  mane,  growl- 
ing with  a  constant  deep-throated  rumble,  had  advanced 
into  the  open  to  fight  in  their  defence.  All  Terry's 
desperate  entreaties  and  commands  could  not  turn  him. 
He  knew  his  duty. 

So  they  could  only  watch — did  not  dare  to  sick  him — 
it  would  be  cruel  to  sick  him,  for  what  dog  could  whip 
a  big  torn  panther?  And  Shep  needed  no  sicking. 
Terry  felt  George  trembling  with  excitement,  and 
wondered  if  it  would  be  wicked  to  pray  that  Shep  be 
the  victor. 

Steadily  Shep  stalked  forward,  careful  step  by  care- 


SHEP  TO  THE  FORE  AGAIN          239 

ful  step.  The  great  cat  settled  lower  still,  his  ears 
flattened  to  nothing,  his  tail  tip  swished  from  side  to 
side,  his  eyes  fairly  blazed,  and  with  open  mouth  he 
snarled  viciously. 

Now  scarce  ten  yards  separated  them — on  a  sudden 
Shep's  deep  growl  swelled  to  a  roar  and  he  charged. 
With  a  shrill  scream  the  panther  bounded  high,  met 
him,  they  clinched,  and  went  tumbling  over  and  over 
along  the  ground 


CHAPTER  XVII 

A   PLAGUE  FROM   THE  SKIES 

THE  sod  and  twigs  flew,  spattering  the  two  boys  as 
standing,  fascinated  and  helpless,  they  danced  up  and 
down  and  at  last  cheered  Shep  on. 

"Get  him,  Shep!  Sick!  Good  Shep!  Sick! 
Sick !  Chew  him,  boy !  " 

Terry  was  wild  to  rush  in  and  help,  but  he  and 
George  were  bare  legged,  and  not  a  stick  of  any  size 
met  their  frantic  gaze. 

Over  and  over  rolled  the  fighters — first  Shep's  shaggy 
form  would  appear,  as  he  hung  fast  and  slashed  and 
tore ;  then  the  writhing,  kicking,  tawny  form  of  the  cat. 
What  a  medley  of  growls  and  snarls,  of  throaty  barks 
and  high  screams,  made  all  the  timber  echo ! 

Abruptly  Shep  came  flying  out  of  the  fracas.  Right 
through  the  air  he  was  hurled,  by  a  terrific  kick  from 
the  panther's  powerful  hind  legs.  He  landed  in  a  heap, 
and  hastily  scrambled  to  his  feet.  His  sides  were 
streaked  with  red  where  the  cat's  long  claws  had  ripped, 
and  a  fore  leg  was  bitten  through  and  through.  For  a 
moment  he  stood  panting  and  whining.  The  panther 
again  crouched,  lashing  with  his  tail  and  snarling  in 

240 


A  PLAGUE  FROM  THE  SKIES         241 

high,  rasping  tone,  while  his  eyes  burned  green.  He, 
too,  was  bleeding ;  an  ear  dripped,  and  the  hide  around 
his  throat  and  neck  was  torn  open  by  Shep's  worrying 
teeth. 

"Shep!  Here!"  implored  the  boys.  But  before 
Terry  could  rush  out  to  grab  him  by  the  collar,  he  had 
pluckily  charged.  He  circled  and  recircled,  darting  in 
and  out  while  ever  the  cat  turned  to  face  him.  For  this 
was  Shep's  way  of  fighting — springing  and  slashing, 
wolf-like.  And  then  they  closed.  The  panther  was  too 
quick  for  him,  with  a  lightning  spring  had  seized  him, 
dragged  him  down,  and  clasping  him  with  the  fore 
legs  bit  and  chewed,  and  ripped  with  the  hind  legs. 

Over  and  over  they  rolled  again,  in  furious  struggles 
and  horrid  noise  of  growls  and  snarls.  How  the 
panther  kicked  and  bit !  He  was  stronger  than  Shep — 
and  this  was  a  fight  to  a  finish.  Shep  surely  was  a  gone 
dog.  He  seemed  to  be  growing  weaker.  Oh,  for  a 
club — for  any  way  to  help  him !  Terry  was  trembling 
and  heart-sick.  If  he  had  on  his  shoes  he  would  have 
bolted  in  and  used  them — would  have  done  some  kick- 
ing, himself. 

The  panther  now  appeared  to  be  clinging  closer  and 
working  harder;  Shep  strove  only  feebly,  as  he  was 
being  dragged  lower  and  lower.  George  moaned  des- 
pairingly. 

"  He's  being  killed !  "  he  gasped. 

But  see!  With  a  thud  of  rapid  feet,  and  a 
quick  cry :  "  Look  out !  Shep !  Hold  him,  Shep !  " 
Harry  had  arrived,  on  the  run.  The  ax  was  in  his 
hand — and  in  one  jump  he  reached  the  writhing,  tumb- 


242  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

ling  bunch.  For  a  moment  he  poised,  ax  lifted,  waiting 
a  chance.  It  came,  when  just  for  an  instant  the  bunch 
stilled,  as  Shep  collapsed  and  the  cat  kicked  and  wor- 
ried. Down  swooped  the  ax,  smashing  with  dull  sound 
into  the  tawny  body,  crouched  with  Shep  underneath. 
Clean  upon  the  tense  back,  between  the  shoulders,  it 
landed.  Harry  sprang  aside  for  another  blow.  The 
panther  stiffened,  and  bloody  head  tossing  loosely  went 
twisting  and  kicking,  now  regardless  of  Shep. 

Harry  followed,  watching  his  chance  while  he  kept 
clear  of  the  claws.  Suddenly  he  struck  again,  and 
again  and  again.  The  panther's  strangled  yowls  sub- 
sided, and  he  lay  stretched  and  quivering,  a  gory  mass 
of  hide  and  flesh,  his  teeth  still  bared  in  a  last  snarl. 

Harry  paused,  white  and  panting.  But  without 
waiting  to  thank  him,  Terry  darted,  weak-kneed,  for 
Shep. 

"Shep!    Poor  old  Shep!" 

Shep  was  there,  where  the  final  grip  on  him  had  been 
broken.  He  could  not  stand.  He  had  sunk  down,  with 
his  four  legs  sprawled  beneath  him,  and  his  nose  pa- 
thetically extended  along  the  ground.  He  crawled  a 
few  inches,  at  the  sound  of  his  master's  voice,  and  sank 
again.  His  eyes  were  closed,  but  he  tried  to  wag  his 
tail.  That  was  a  good  sign. 

They  all  bent  over  him. 

"  Shep !    Good  doggie !    Brave  doggie !  " 

"  Will  he  die?  "  quavered  Terry. 

"  Let's  see,"  bade  Harry. 

"  Jiminy,  but  he's  cut!  "  stammered  George. 

They  tenderly  examined  Shep,  who  submitted  to  their 


A  PLAGUE  FROM  THE  SKIES         243 

touches  as  if  he  knew  what  was  being  done.  One  fore 
leg  was  gashed  and  bitten  through  and  through;  his 
collar  was  bitten,  also,  and  there  were  tooth  holes 
in  his  neck ;  the  panther's  claws  had  torn  his  shoulders, 
with  their  grip,  and  had  ploughed  deep  furrows  along 
his  sides  and  stomach.  One  ear  hung  useless,  chewed 
to  ribbons.  But 

"  No,  he  won't  die,"  asserted  Harry.  "  Good !  See  ? 
Those  are  all  flesh-wounds.  Maybe  his  ear  is  broken; 
can't  tell.  His  leg  isn't  broken,  though.  Let's  get  some 
water  and  wash  him  off." 

"You  think  he'll  get  well?" 

"  Sure.  In  two  weeks  he'll  be  ready  for  another  tus- 
sle. Won't  you,  Shep,  old  boy  ?  " 

Shep  opened  his  eyes,  wagged  his  tail,  and  licked 
Terry's  hand.  Away  raced  Terry  and  George  for  the 
creek,  and  raced  back  with  water  in  their  hats.  By 
this  time  Shep  was  trying  to  stand  up;  did  stand  up, 
on  shaky  legs;  shook  himself,  and  licked  some  of  his 
bites ;  did  not  particularly  want  to  be  washed — although 
he  submitted  to  being  fussed  over  and  seemed  to  ap- 
preciate the  attention;  sneezed;  sighted  the  panther's 
body,  and  growling  hobbled  forward ;  circled  gingerly, 
one  ear  pricked  and  nose  sniffing — and  stalking  closer, 
smelled  of  the  carcass,  and  growled  over  it.  Then  he 
sat  down  and  licked  his  wounds,  while  watching  his 
enemy. 

"  He's  all  right,"  assured  Harry. 

"  You  came  just  in  time,  though,"  said  George. 

"  I  shouldn't  wonder.  Just  in  time  for  Shep,  any- 
way." 


244  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

"  Maybe  the  panther  would  have  got  us,  too,"  haz- 
arded Terry.  "  He  was  awful  mad." 

"  Funny  why  he  would  have  attacked  you,"  said 
Harry,  now  less  white. 

"  We  were  bleating  for  deer.  He  thought  we  had  a 
fawn,"  explained  Terry. 

"  Oh,  I  see." 

"  You  came  quick  when  you  did  come,"  exclaimed 
Terry.  "  We  didn't  have  a  thing  to  help  Shep  with — 
not  even  a  stick.  Whew !  " 

"  I  might  not  have  had  anything,  either,  if  I'd  come 
sooner,  as  I  expected  to,"  said  Harry.  "  But  when  I 
found  your  clothes  I  heard  this  bawling  and  fighting, 
and  ran  for  the  ax." 

"  Now  you  belong  to  our  clan,"  declared  George, 
warmly.  "Doesn't  he,  Terry!  He's  a  brother.  He 
needn't  get  any  rattles,  first.  He  can  wear  a  panther 
claw  necklace  like  yours. 

"  No,  Shep  ought  to  wear  the  claws.  He's  entitled 
to  be  a  member  in  very  high  standing,"  asserted  Harry. 
"  Aren't  you,  Shep  ?  Besides,  I  have  my  own  badge. 
That's  why  I  didn't  get  here  sooner:  stopped  to  kill 
a  tremendous  big  rattler,  on  my  way  from  the  house. 
He  had  his  thirteen  rattles.  I've  got  'em  in  my  pocket, 
to  save  'em  till  I  deserved  to  be  in  the  brotherhood." 

"How'd  you  kill  him?" 

"  Held  him  down  with  a  forked  stick  and  hammered 
his  head  with  my  shoe,"  cheerfully  responded  Harry. 

"  Shake,"  invited  George. 

Harry  shook  hands  with  him  and  Terry. 

"  Now  let's  take  Shep  home.    If  he  can't  walk  we'll 


A  PLAGUE  FROM  THE  SKIES         245 

carry  him.  You  other  brothers  had  better  put  on  your 
clothes,  hadn't  you?" 

"What'll  we  do  with  the  panther?"  demanded 
Terry.  "  Cracky,  but  he's  a  big  fellow.  Must  be  the 
husband  of  the  one  I  shot  last  spring." 

"  His  hide's  no  good,  though,"  spoke  George.  "  And 
his  head's  smashed.  Look  where  Shep  chewed  him, 
too!" 

They  surveyed  the  lax,  gory  body  of  the  panther. 

"We'll  haul  him  home,"  proposed  Terry.  "And 
cut  out  his  claws." 

"  Won't  your  mother  be  scared  ?  " 

"  We'll  tell  her  not  to  look." 

"  All  right,"  agreed  Harry.  "  It's  dinner  time,  any- 
way. You  hustle  on  your  clothes,  and  I'll  be  cutting 
a  grape  vine  for  a  tow." 

They  hustled.  When  they  got  back,  Harry  already 
had  the  panther  carcass  in  leash.  Shep  refused  to  be 
carried;  probably  it  hurt  his  wounds.  So  Harry 
dragged  the  panther,  George  bore  the  ax,  Terry  fol- 
lowed ready  to  help  Shep,  and  Shep  hobbled,  occa- 
sionally shaking  his  sore  ear,  in  the  rear. 

Thus  they  made  for  home:  crossed  the  creek  and 
emerged  from  the  timber  and  brush,  into  the  hot  prai- 
rie— when  George  exclaimed. 

"  Look  at  the  smoke,  yonder !    Prairie  fire !  " 

"  Oh,  thunder !  "  gasped  Terry.  Up  into  the  horizon 
on  the  west  had  welled  a  hazy  cloud,  and  the  wind  was 
blowing  straight  from  that  direction. 

"  Great  Caesar !  "  mused  Harry,  who  never  got  ex- 
cited. "  We  ought  to  have  ploughed  a  fire  strip,  on 


246  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

that  side.  But  those  hills  never  have  burned  over. 
Maybe  they'll  stop  it.  Grass  there  is  short." 

"  We  can  fight  it  with  wet  sacks  and  send  it  'round 
us,  can't  we  ?  "  panted  Terry,  as  they  quickened  their 
pace. 

"  Then  it'll  go  down  to  our  place,"  asserted  George. 
"  Maybe  I  ought  to  be  getting  home." 

They  hastened.  The  cabin  was  in  plain  sight,  with 
Mrs.  Richards  waiting  for  them.  Now  she  came  out, 
and  she,  too,  began  to  gaze  at  the  cloud.  Already 
the  sun  was  dimming.  The  cloud  had  wafted  forward 
with  astonishing  rapidity. 

"  Don't  smell  it  yet,  do  you  ?  "  queried  Harry. 

"  Mighty  funny  looking  cloud,"  said  George. 
"  Looks  like  a  snow  storm.  See  it  twinkle  ?  " 

"  A  snow  storm  in  August !  "  scoffed  Terry.  "  'D 
rather  have  that  than  a  fire,  though." 

Yes,  the  sun  was  veiled,  for  the  forward  edge  of  the 
cloud  had  reached  to  mid-sky,  overhead.  And  a  strange 
cloud  it  was — moving  swiftly,  with  the  wind,  and  shot 
through  with  flashes  and  twinkles.  Behind  it  was  a 
clear  space — and  then  another  cloud,  similar,  following 
fast.  Even  the  cattle  were  standing  with  heads  lifted, 
curious,  and  the  chickens  and  Pete  the  turkey  were 
running  about  and  chattering. 

All  the  sky  was  darkened,  when  towing  the  panther 
they  three,  and  Shep,  arrived. 

"  What  have  you  got  now  ?  "  greeted  Mrs.  Richards. 
"Oh,  goodness!  Another  panther!  But  have  you 
noticed  the  sky?  Is  that  smoke,  do  you  think?  Is 
there  a  fire?" 


A  PLAGUE  FROM  THE  SKIES         247 

"  Listen !  "  bade  George,  excited.  "  Hear  it  crackle? 
If  you  don't  need  me  I'd  better  bee-line  for  home." 

"  I'm  afraid,"  whimpered  Virgie,  all  sticky  with 
honey.  "  I'm  not  afraid  of  the  panther,  but  I'm  afraid 
of  the  sky.  Will  we  be  burned  up  ?  " 

"  Look  at  the  chickens !  " 

"  Ouch!  "  cried  Terry.  "  It's  hail.  Something  hit 
me.  Oh,  Christmas !  There's  another !  " 

"  Grasshoppers !  "  fairly  yelped  Harry.  "  It's 
a  grasshopper  cloud !  " 

"  For  mercy-sakes-alive !  "  uttered  Mother  Richards. 
She  threw  her  apron  over  her  head  and  beat  retreat  to 
the  cabin.  So  did  Virgie.  The  cloud  was  dropping 
grasshoppers.  By  scores  they  fell — plump!  They 
landed  everywhere,  striking  hard  against  the  cabin, 
against  the  earth,  against  Terry  and  George  and  Harry, 
against  the  animals,  against  whatever  happened  to  be  in 
their  path.  Immediately  they  landed,  they  righted 
themselves  and  crawled,  to  settle  upon  the  first  green 
thing  and  eat. 

The  horses  threw  up  their  heads  and  snorted,  stung 
by  the  hurling  bodies.  Shep  put  his  tail  down  and 
bolted  for  shelter.  The  chickens  and  Pete  ran  wildly 
about,  swallowing  the  hoppers  as  fast  as  they  could 
grab.  Birds  were  flocking — descending  from  the  cloud 
with  the  falling  insects:  snapping  them  in  mid-flight 
and  pecking  them  off  the  ground. 

"That's  what  we  heard — their  wings!"  cried 
George.  "  Their  wings  crackled !  Tisn't  fire." 

"Great  Caesar's  ghost!"  gasped  Harry.  "They'll 
eat  no  the  whole  ranch.  We've  got  to  help  the  chickens. 


248  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

Never  mind  those  on  the  ground.  Tend  to  the 
garden." 

"  Step  on  'em !  Squash  'em !  "  encouraged  Terry ; 
and  for  the  garden  they  rushed. 

Harry  paused  to  seize  a  broom.  He  threshed  about, 
knocking  the  hoppers  from  the  garden  leaves,  and 
smashing  them;  George  and  Terry  kicked  and  trod 
and  beat  with  sticks.  It  seemed  a  hopeless  task,  but 
the  cloud  had  passed,  leaving  only  a  small  portion  of 
its  swarm. 

"  There  comes  the  other  cloud,"  suddenly  panted 
George,  as  they  worked. 

"  If  that  lands !  "  groaned  Harry. 

They  stared  in  dismay.  The  cloud  was  low — much 
lower  than  the  preceding.  The  sound  of  the  papery 
wings  drifted  in  advance,  on  the  breeze.  Sweeping 
lower,  and  lower,  it  sped  across  the  valley  and  in  a 
moment  more  it  struck.  Never  was  hailstorm  thicker. 
The  three  workers  were  blinded.  They  could  not  see. 
The  chickens,  and  Pete,  already  gorged,  fluttered,  yell- 
ing, for  cover. 

"  Run !  "  gasped  Terry.    "  Make  for  the  cabin." 

They  dropped  their  tools  and  ran,  shielding  their 
eyes.  At  every  step  they  crunched  hoppers ;  the  ground 
was  slippery  with  the  creatures.  Into  the  cabin  they 
fled.  Those  crawling,  spiky  legs  on  a  fellow's  neck 
were  not  pleasant  to  feel. 

Mrs.  Richards  and  Virgie  were  exclaiming  and  clos- 
ing the  window  shutters. 

"  They're  coming  right  down  the  chimney !  "  accused 


A  PLAGUE  FROM  THE  SKIES         249 

Mother  Richards.  "  And  they'll  eat  everything.  What 
shall  we  do?" 

Coming  down  the  chimney  they  were!  Crawling 
over  the  floor!  Squeezing  in  under  the  shutters! 
Mother  Richards  and  Virgie  shook  their  skirts  and 
stamped.  But  this  was  not  the  worst. 

"Just  look  outside,"  bade  Harry. 

From  the  door,  opened  a  crack,  they  peered.  Why, 
the  whole  landscape  was  a-crawl!  Hundreds — 
thousands — millions  of  grasshoppers!  They  actually 
covered  the  ground,  and  the  buildings  as  well. 

"  Hear  'em  eat  ?  "  whispered  George.  And  sure 
enough,  there  was  a  steady  sound  like  the  crinkle  of 
tissue  paper.  The  grasshoppers'  jaws,  cutting  and 
munching ! 

"  Well,"  sighed  Harry,  "  there  go  our  corn  and 
oats,  not  to  speak  of  the  garden." 

"  Will  they  eat  panther  ?  "  piped  Virgie — for  the 
panther  body  was  a  mass  of  them. 

"  Shouldn't  wonder,"  answered  Harry. 

"  Suppose  they're  as  bad  down  at  our  place,"  faltered 
George.  "  I'm  sorry  for  you  folks,  though.  Ought 
to  put  that  pony  under  cover,"  he  added;  and  out  he 
ran,  dodging  and  fighting  and  slipping. 

The  spotted  pony  on  which  little  Virgie  had  ridden 
over  was  tugging  at  his  picket  rope.  The  air  by 
this  time  was  well  cleared  of  the  falling  hoppers; 
George  grasped  the  picket  rope,  tore  it  loose  and  by 
it  led  the  pony  to  the  corral — actually  waded  in  the 
hoppers — and  in  haste  turned  the  pony  loose.  The 
pony  immediately  headed  in  under  the  shed,  where 


250  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

he  shook  himself  and  snorted.     George  scampered 
back,  leaving  his  own  pony. 

"  They're  eating  the  saddle,  too,  I  guess,"  he  said. 
"  But  I  can't  help  that.  I'm  not  going  out  there  again ! 
The  Indian  pony  doesn't  act  afraid,  yet." 

For  three  hours  the  grasshoppers  stayed.  There 
was  no  use  trying  to  have  dinner — too  many  grass- 
hoppers in  the  cabin.  Some  even  got  into  the  honey, 
much  to  Mother  Richards'  dismay.  Then,  shortly 
after  noon,  as  if  by  a  signal  the  hoppers  rose,  and  in 
a  dense  mass  flew  away,  leaving  only  a  scattering  of 
stragglers. 

They  flew  because  there  was  nothing  more  here  to 
eat.  What  a  sight  presented  itself,  when  a  person 
could  venture  out!  The  ground  was  absolutely  bare. 
The  garden  was  eaten  to  the  roots;  the  oats  had  dis- 
appeared; the  cornfield  was  only  a  stubble  of  short 
stalks;  the  panther  carcass  had  been  stripped  of  hair 
and  considerable  flesh;  George's  saddle  was  gnawed 
and  scraped,  especially  the  flaps  and  horn,  which  were 
salty  with  perspiration — and  the  hoe  handle  and  the 
handles  of  the  plow,  salty  also,  were  scored  by  the 
hoppers'  jaws !  Even  the  cabin  roof  had  been  reaped, 
and  the  dried  sun-flowers  alone  remained,  to  rattle 
in  the  breeze.  The  spring  trough  was  choked  with 
bodies,  the  barrel  itself  was  all  fouled,  and  somehow 
the  greedy  creatures  had  penetrated  into  the  dug-out 
cellar  and  attacked  the  butter,  not  to  speak  of  drowning 
in  the  milk! 

"What  will  we  do?"  murmured  Terry's  mother, 


A  PLAGUE  FROM  THE  SKIES         251 

standing  stockstill,  and  gazing  around.  "  Everything 
was  looking  so  nice,  and  now " 

Her  voice  broke.  Tears  were  in  her  eyes.  Terry 
sprang  for  her,  and  put  his  arm  around  her. 

"  Don't  you  mind,"  he  comforted.  "  You've  got 
Harry  and  me." 

"  And  a  cow  and  a  calf,"  added  Harry.  "  I  should 
say  so!  If  we  all  of  us  together  can't  make  a  living 
in  a  land  of  milk  and  honey — not  speaking  of  locusts 
— we  don't  deserve  it." 

"  I'm  awful  sorry  for  you  folks,"  repeated  George, 
lamely.  "  Maybe  it's  as  bad  at  our  place.  I  think 
I'd  better  go  down  and  see.  Anyway,  if  we've  got  any- 
thing you  can  use,  you're  welcome  to  it." 

So  he  saddled  up,  and  he  and  Virgie  rode  off  to 
investigate. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

NEWS  FROM  THE  WEST 

IT  could  not  be  otherwise  than  a  sober  little  party 
who  sat  down  this  afternoon  to  a  late  dinner.  Terry 
needs  must  glance  out  through  the  door,  occasionally, 
to  make  certain  that  he  was  not  dreaming.  Once  he 
had  been  much  pleased,  to  glance  out  this  way,  and 
see  the  waving  corn,  and  hay,  and  oats,  and  the  garden, 
some  of  which  he  had  put  in  by  himself,  and  all  of 
which  he  had  helped  to  put  in.  He  had  planned  to 
support  his  mother  and  to  surprise  his  father.  Now, 
what  was  there  to  show,  for  his  hard  work.  Almost 
everything  had  disappeared,  in  a  twinkling.  The 
ranch  looked  like  a  pretty  poor  sort  of  a  place — scrubb} 
and  uncared  for;  gone  to  the  dogs — or  to  the  grass- 
hoppers. 

Still,  Harry  seemed  to  pluck  up  spirits.  He  was 
that  kind.  Had  it  not  been  for  Harry,  the  dinner 
would  not  have  had  any  taste.  But  Harry  proceeded 
to  talk  gaily. 

"We're  lucky,  anyway,  Mother  Richards,"  he  as- 
serted. "  Supposing  Terry  and  I  had  the  same  ap- 
petite those  hoppers  have!  How  would  you  ever 
feed  us?  But  as  it  is — please  pass  the  potatoes." 

"  I  know,"  faltered  Terry's  mother,  smiling  wanly. 
252 


NEWS  FROM  THE  WEST  253 

"We  ought  to  be  thankful  that  things  are  no  worse. 
A  fire  would  have  taken  the  house,  and  maybe  the 
horses  and  cattle,  too." 

"  Yes,  and  all  our  provisions/'  added  Terry  "  We 
can  live  on  milk  and  honey,  and  I  can  go  hunting  for 
meat." 

"  But  what  will  we  do  this  winter  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I've  got  lots  of  schemes,"  informed  Harry. 
"  We  can  gather  up  the  hoppers  and  press  them  into 
dry  cakes  and  eat  them — the  way  the  Indians  do.  Or 
fry  them  in  butter,  the  way  people  do  in  Arabia  and 
the  Holy  Land.  Or  preserve  them  in  sugar,  for  des- 
sert, instead  of  pie — like  the  Chinese  do.  Or  in  honey ! 
This  evidently  is  a  country  of  locusts  and  wild  honey, 
like  the  Bible  mentions." 

"  No !  "  protested  Mother  Richards.  "  I  hope  we 
won't  have  to  do  all  that! " 

"  Well,  we  can  save  them  and  trade  them  to  the 
chickens  this  winter  for  corn,"  continued  Harry. 
"  And  eat  the  corn.  But  worst  hasn't  come  to  worst, 
yet.  It  never  does.  If  those  hoppers  had  front  legs 
as  long  as  their  hind  legs  they  would  have  reached 
down  into  the  potato  hills  and  pulled  the  potatoes  out. 
Now  we  have  some  potatoes  left,  anyway.  After 
dinner  we'll  take  an  inventory,  and  I  believe  we'll 
find  that  we're  a  heap  better  off  than  if  we  had  noth- 
ing." 

Mother  Richards  stayed  at  the  cabin  to  clean  things 
up,  and  nurse  Shep  (who  was  too  sore  and  tired  to 
move),  while  her  two  men  trudged  out  to  make  their 
survey  of  the  ranch. 


254  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

The  garden,  which  was  first  at  hand,  indeed  pre- 
sented a  sorry  sight,  eaten  off  to  the  very  roots.  The 
cabbages  were  riddled;  the  tender  summer  squashes 
were  gnawed ;  string  beans  hung  in  shreds ;  radish  tops 
and  onion  tops  alike  had  proved  tasty — and  where 
onions  and  beets  and  such  things  had  been  exposed  in 
the  soil,  those  grasshoppers  had  bored  right  into  them. 
However,  as  Harry  had  said,  the  potatoes  lay  too 
deep;  and  although  they  yet  were  small,  still  there'd 
be  enough  for  many  a  mess. 

The  oats  were  but  little  superior  to  the  garden.  The 
leaves  had  been  stripped  from  the  stalks,  and  the 
tender  portions  of  the  stalks  eaten  off  so  that  the 
majority  of  the  oat  heads  were  lying  on  the  ground. 
Harry  scanned,  and  scratched  his  nose. 

"  We'll  have  to  reap  our  oat  crop  with  a  garden 
rake,  I  guess.  Anyway,  it  isn't  a  total  loss.  The 
hoppers  omitted  to  bring  sacks  with  them,  to  carry  off 
the  heads.  And  we  have  the  straw,  too." 

The  hay  field  was,  as  Harry  expressed  it,  "  only 
freckled."  That  is,  the  fresh,  greener  grasses  had  been 
devoured,  and  the  ripe  grasses  and  hard  weeds  were 
left,  making  curious  brownish  patches. 

Harry  scratched  his  nose. 

"  Half  a  crop,  here,"  he  declared,  confidently.  "  Or, 
to  be  honest,  a  quarter  of  a  crop,  and  poor  stuff  at  that. 
But  it's  worth  cutting. 

Oh,  the  corn  field !  That  had  fared  the  worst.  The 
grasshoppers  evidently  were  extremely  fond  of  corn 
— both  sweet  corn  and  field  corn. 

"  Shucks !  "  exclaimed  Harry.     "  I  wish  we  had." 


NEWS  FROM  THE  WEST  255 

"Had  what?" 

"  Shucked  it  before  instead  of  standing  here  '  shuck- 
ing '  it  now.  But  it  wasn't  quite  ready." 

The  stalks  were  left,  standing  straight  and  bare. 
Bare,  too,  were  the  ears,  hanging,  or  fallen  to  the 
ground;  all  with  their  green  husks  devoured,  the  ten- 
derer ears  gnawed  clean  to  the  cob,  and  the  other  ears 
gouged  and  disfigured. 

"  More  fodder,  served  plain,  nothing  fancy,"  sighed 
Harry.  "  Well,  the  cattle  aren't  going  to  suffer  this 
winter,  and  we  sha'n't,  either.  Those  hoppers  missed 
a  few  things;  they  were  in  too  big  a  hurry.  They 
missed  our  timber.  I  always  said  that  timber  was  our 
savings  bank.  We'll  put  in  our  hard  licks  there,  and 
draw  out  rails  and  shingles.  Let's  go  back  and  tell 
Mother  Richards  about  it." 

What  an  encouraging  fellow  Harry  was! 

The  chickens  and  Pete  the  turkey  were  out  again, 
busily  picking  up  more  grasshoppers,  although  stuffed 
to  bursting.  The  horses  and  the  yellow  mule  were 
grazing  once  more,  on  the  short  wiry  grass  that  the 
hoppers  had  declined.  The  cow,  now  as  gentle  as  any 
cow,  had  arrived  at  the  corral  gate,  to  get  her  even- 
ing lick  of  salt,  and  be  milked,  and  put  away  for  the 
night.  The  buffalo  calf,  long  since  weaned,  was  hav- 
ing a  friendly  bunting  duel  with  Buck  the  ox,  while 
Spot,  the  other  ox,  placidly  refereed.  Terry's  mother, 
having  cleaned  house,  was  waiting  in  the  doorway,  for 
her  two  "  boys  "  to  return.  And  altogether  the  ranch 
seemed  quite  cheery.  From  the  corner  where  he  was 
recovering  Shep  even  wagged  his  tail. 


256  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

For  the  time  being  the  panther  carcass  had  been 
forgotten;  but  there  it  lay,  a  hideous  sight,  and  must 
be  disposed  of.  So  they  did  not  delay  to  cut  out  its 
claws,  but  buried  it  at  once.  There  were  matters 
of  more  importance,  now,  than  panther  claws. 

That  evening,  after  chores,  they  three  took  stock, 
and  discussed  ways  and  means. 

"  Let's  see,"  proposed  Harry,  checking  on  his  fingers. 
"  We  can't  count  on  our  crops ;  that's  certain. 
Haven't  much  more  than  enough  for  ourselves.  Could 
spare  some  hay,  but  that  coarse  stuff  would  scarcely 
pay  for  the  hauling.  Anyway,  the  government  won't 
want  it.  I  reckon  we'll  have  a  few  potatoes,  but  they're 
small  and  won't  measure  up.  That  cuts  down  the 
bushels.  The  corn  doesn't  amount  to  shucks,  because 
there  aren't  any  shucks;  but  there's  enough  for  the 
chickens  and  animals,  and  maybe  for  a  pinch  of  meal 
— two  pinches.  How  much  honey  have  we,  mother  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  confessed  Mother  Richards. 
"It's  sitting  all  over  the  place.  What  will  we  do  with 
it?" 

"  Trade  it  in,"  cried  Harry.  "  We'll  strain  it  and 
take  it  to  market — and  the  comb  is  good  wax." 

"  But  I  haven't  any  jars ;  not  enough,  that  is." 

"  Huh !  That's  so."  And  Harry  scratched  his  nose. 
"Well,  any  butter  ready?" 

"  Yes,  sir ! "  proudly  asserted  Mother  Richards. 
"  A  batch  all  ready." 

"  Good.  We'll  trade  the  butter  for  jars;  and  we'll 
fill  the  jars  and  trade  back  again  for  something  else. 
That's  a  starter.  Right  away  in  the  morning  Terry 


NEWS  FROM  THE  WEST  257 

can  go  down  to  Manhattan  and  deposit  the  butter  and 
get  the  jars.  Then  he  can  ride  around  by  Riley  and 
tell  them  we  can't  fill  our  hay  contract,  but  we  stand 
ready  to  deliver  rails  and  fuel  and  anything  else  they'll 
take  from  the  timber  patch.  I'll  hustle  and  clear  out 
the  corn  field  before  the  squirrels  get  what's  left,  and 
we'll  sow  wheat.  Won't  need  plowing  again — we  can 
harrow  it  in  and  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  we  got  a  pretty 
good  stand.  Wheat  doesn't  mind  cold  weather.  We'll 
try  potatoes  again,  too.  And  if  I  can  get  hold  of  any 
rye  we'll  sow  the  oat  field  to  that,  after  a  bit,  and  get  a 
spring  crop,  at  least." 

In  fact,  Harry  was  full  of  plans,  and  when  he  and 
Terry  climbed  up  to  bed  in  the  loft,  the  future  looked 
rosy  again. 

"  Ask  the  Stantons  if  they  don't  want  some  of  this 
honey,"  called  Terry's  mother,  after  him  as  he  rode 
away  early  in  the  morning,  bearing  the  butter  to  Man- 
hattan. "  Part  of  it  belongs  to  them,  you  know. 
George  helped  you  get  it." 

Shep  was  too  lame  to  come  along.  He  was  well 
content  to  stay  quietly  at  home  and  lick  his  wounds. 
His  ear  did  not  seem  to  be  broken,  but  it  never  did 
stand  straight  again.  He  always  was  a  lop-eared  dog, 
following  his  panther  fight ;  but  the  ear  was  an  honor- 
able token,  far  superior,  in  the  Brotherhood,  to  any 
snake  rattles. 

Harry  had  sallied  with  the  mare  and  the  mule  and 
wagon  to  the  corn  field,  whistling  as  he  went.  So 
Terry  rode  off  alone. 

The  havoc  wrought  by  the  grasshoppers  extended 


258  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

right  on  down  to  the  Stanton  place,  so  it  was  evident 
that  the  Stantons  had  suffered,  too.  The  trail  and  the 
prairie  sod  were  still  thick  with  the  hopping  creatures, 
on  which  many  birds  were  feeding;  and  when  Terry 
entered  the  Stanton  yard  George  met  him  with  rueful 
face. 

"  They  cleaned  us  up  as  bad  as  they  cleaned  you,"  he 
reported.  "  We're  going  to  put  in  our  crops  over  again. 
And  they're  laying  eggs,  pop  says,  'way  under  ground, 
so  we'll  have  more  hoppers  next  year.  That's  a  great 
note,  isn't  it!  Two  or  three  years  ago  there  was  an- 
other big  flight,  old  settlers  tell." 

"  Ma  wants  to  know  if  you  folks  wouldn't  like  some 
honey,"  informed  Terry.  "  Part  of  what  we've  got  is 
yours,  anyway." 

"  I  guess  we  would,"  answered  George.  "  I'll  ask. 
Eating's  liable  to  be  mighty  scarce,  in  these  parts,  after 
that  grasshopper  storm.  Glad  it  wasn't  a  prairie  fire, 
though." 

"  I  should  say,"  agreed  Terry.  "  That  would  have 
taken  the  timber  and  all." 

"  Where  you  going?  " 

"  Down  to  Manhattan  and  Riley,  to  trade  butter  in — 
and  I've  got  some  eggs,  too.  We  count  on  trading 
our  honey  in,  after  we  get  jars  for  it." 

"Good  work,"  complimented  George.  "It'll  take 
more  than  grasshoppers  to  wipe  out  us  Kansas  settlers 
— and  the  hoppers  will  make  the  chickens  fat!  Ours 
are  about  busting." 

"  So  are  ours,"  replied  Terry.  "  Well,  I've  got  to 
go.  Lots  of  business." 


NEWS  FROM  THE  WEST  259 

"That's  right.  But  if  you  meet  Thunder  Horse 
you'd  better  not  waste  your  eggs." 

'*  I'm  saving  two  bad  ones  for  him,"  laughed  Terry. 

However,  he  did  not  meet  any  Thunder  Horse,  this 
time.  Thunder  Horse  probably  was  fighting  shy  of  a 
locality  that  might  be  dangerous  for  him  after  his 
kidnapping. 

He  did  not  meet  any  Thunder  Horse,  but  he  met 
plenty  of  the  grasshoppers.  The  swarm  had  extended 
south  for  about  seven  miles,  eating  the  leaves  from  the 
bushes  and  trees  where  they  had  found  nothing  better. 
More  of  them  seemed  to  have  remained  here  than 
further  north.  A  great  many  of  those  in  sight  on  the 
ground  had  dug  round  holes  with  their  hinder  ends, 
and  were  sitting  motionless  and  half  buried,  laying 
their  eggs.  Ugh !  Supposing  that  there  were  a  million 
hoppers,  and  each  laid  fifty  eggs,  then  next  year  there'd 
be  fifty  million  more;  and  if  half  of  these  each  laid 
fifty  eggs,  the  next  year  there'd  be  a  billion  and  a 
quarter;  and  if  half  of  these  each  laid  fifty  eggs — 
whew! 

Down  the  valley  as  far  as  the  grasshoppers  had  ex- 
tended, all  the  ranchers  appeared  to  be  busy,  salvaging 
their  riddled  crops  and  preparing  to  make  a  fresh  start. 
They  struck  Terry  as  being  a  remarkably  brave  people 
— these  immigrant  settlers  in  the  new  West;  and  he 
felt  proud  to  be  one  of  them.  For  were  not  he  and 
his  mother  and  Harry  doing  the  same? 

On  a  sudden  the  grasshopper  belt  ceased,  and  he  rode 
through  a  prospering  country  again,  where  on  the 
farms  the  corn  and  other  grain  were  waving  or  already 


2<5o  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

shocked,  and  the  hay  was  being  cut  and  stacked,  just 
as  should  have  been  the  case  on  his  own  farm.  The 
few  pounds  of  butter  and  the  several  dozen  eggs  that 
he  was  bringing  from  those  160  broad  acres  seemed 
rather  picayune;  but,  anyway,  they  were  something, 
and  a  lot  better  than  nothing. 

Another  horseman  was  cantering  across  the  valley, 
making  for  the  trail  south.  As  he  and  Terry  drew  to- 
gether, he  looked  more  and  more  familiar.  Sol  Judy ! 
Hurrah!  Terry  quickened  his  colt,  and  waved  his 
hand.  Sol  waved  back  and  slackened.  They  met. 

"Howdy?" 

"  Howdy  yourself,  boy.  Where  you  heading?  Did 
the  hoppers  drive  you  out  ?  " 

"Not  yet,"  asserted  Terry.  "And  they  won't, 
either.  But  I'm  going  down  to  Manhattan  to  do  some 
trading." 

"  Bueno  (good)  !  We'll  ride  together.  I  like  your 
spunk.  How's  the  damage  up  your  way?  " 

"Well,  they  tried  to  eat  us  up,"  confessed  Terry. 
"  We're  going  right  along,  though.  Have  you  been  up 
around  there  ?  Did  you  ever  see  so  many  grasshoppers 
before.  Do  they  come  every  year  ?  " 

"  Not  every  year."  And  Sol  laughed.  "  All  depends 
on  the  wind  and  weather,  so  I  hear.  Seems  like  these 
things  start  in  the  spring  from  the  Rocky  Mountains 
yonder.  Anyhow,  that's  where  they're  seen  earliest. 
The  summer  winds  there  and  on  the  plains  are  mostly 
from  west  and  nor' west,  and  if  there's  been  a  warm  dry 
spring,  and  a  big  hatch,  as  soon  as  the  young  have 
crawled  about  and  eaten  everything  and  have  got  wings, 


NEWS  FROM  THE  WEST  261 

they  rise  up  and  sail  along  with  the  wind,  for  pastures 
greener.  That  lands  some  of  'em  hereabouts." 

"  But  it  doesn't  leave  any  behind,  to  come  again,  does 
it?  "  queried  Terry,  hopeful.  "  And  if  we  can  kill  all 
these  eggs- 

"  Trouble  is,"  said  Sol,  "  on  east  of  here  the  summer 
winds  are  mainly  from  the  sou'-east.  So  when  the 
pesky  things  get  out  into  Missouri  they're  likely  to  sail 
back  again,  high  up,  on  a  cross  current,  and  mebbe 
get  where  they  came  from,  to  start  in  over  again.  Of 
course,  I  don't  know.  But  I've  seen  swarms  traveling 
west,  in  early  summer,  and  I've  seen  swarms  traveling 
east,  in  later  summer.  Curious  critters.  But  they  make 
the  turkeys  fat — and  the  country  lean.  If  they  get  to 
be  a  regular  pest,  some  way  will  be  found  to  kill  them 
out.  This  is  too  rich  a  country  to  be  given  over  to 
grasshoppers.  How's  the  colt  doing?  "  And  Sol  eyed 
it  with  critical  gaze. 

"  He's  fine.  Took  me  hunting  with  the  Delawares, 
and  I  brought  back  a  milk  cow  and  a  calf  that  looks  like 
a  buffalo." 

"  You  don't  say !  A  cross  between  cow  and  buffalo, 
eh?  Bull  calf?" 

"  Yes,  sir.    He's  tame  now." 

"  Well,  they  do  say  these  crosses  make  good  animals 
— stand  more  than  a  domestic  and  can  live  where  a 
domestic  can't.  You  want  to  hang  on  to  him  and  train 
him  for  the  yoke." 

"  Guess  we  will,"  responded  Terry.  "  We've  got 
plenty  of  milk,  anyway ;  and  butter,  and  honey  from  a 
bee  tree.  I'm  going  down  to  trade  some  butter,  now. 


262  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

Then  I'm  going  on  up  to  the  fort  and  see  if  they  don't 
want  our  timber.  The  grasshoppers  didn't  eat  that." 

"  You're  the  right  stuff,"  approved  Sol.  "  Timber 
means  money,  in  these  parts." 

About  noon  they  rode  into  Manhattan.  A  crowd  had 
collected  before  the  general  store  where  Terry  usually 
did  his  trading  and  buying.  They  had  surrounded 
several  men  as  a  center,  and  were  excitedly  discussing 
and  peering.  With  quick  eye,  Sol  conjectured  the 
cause. 

"  Gold  seekers,  by  crackity ! "  he  exclaimed,  and 
spurred  forward. 

Terry  followed.  From  their  saddles  they  could  look 
over  the  heads  of  the  crowd,  and  could  see  the  little 
group  in  the  center.  There  were  two  men,  shaggy- 
haired  and  unshaven  and  ragged,  as  if  they  had  just 
arrived  in  civilization,  from  some  western  wilds. 

Sol  hastily  dismounted. 

"What's  the  trouble?"  he  asked,  of  a  bystander, 
while  tying  his  horse. 

"  Some  of  those  gold-seekers  back,  who  went  out  to 
the  mountains  last  spring  ?  " 

"What'd  they  fetch?" 

The  man  laughed. 

"  Mainly  themselves,  and  lucky  to  do  that.  Like- 
wise some  tall  stories,  which  I  for  one  don't  swallow." 

"  Didn't  they  find  any  gold  ?  " 

"  Wall,  I  ain't  seen  any  of  it,  yet." 

"  Come  on,"  bade  Sol,  to  Terry.  "  Let's  investigate." 
With  Terry,  also  on  foot,  close  following,  he  pushed 
through  to  the  inside  of  the  crowd. 


NEWS  FROM  THE  WEST  263 

One  of  the  two  men  had  a  heavy,  russet,  dusty  full 
beard  extending  to  his  eye-brows.  The  other  man  was 
younger  and  slighter,  but  also  bearded.  Their  clothing 
including  boots,  was  patched  roughly,  and  they  looked 
as  if  they  had  had  a  hard  time.  Big  revolvers  were 
belted  at  their  waists — but  this  was  nothing  out  of 
the  ordinary. 

The  russet-bearded  elder  man  was  talking. 

"  Gold  ?  Certain  there's  gold.  Everybody's  finding 
it.  I  reckon  there's  near  a  hundred  people  searching, 
and  more  are  coming  in.  It's  going  to  be  the  richest 
place  on  the  face  of  the  earth.  Has  the  California 
gold  fields  beaten  out  of  sight.  You  take  that  Cherry 
Creek,  where  the  Green  Russell  party  are  located,  and 
you  can  wash  out  the  yellow  with  every  shake  of  the 
pan.  I  hear  tell  the  party  from  Lawrence  that  followed 
out  after  the  Green  Russell  party  have  gone  in  further 
back  and  are  digging  the  gold  with  picks.  Of  course, 
the  higher  up  you  get  the  more  gold  there  is,  and  if  a 
fellow'd  only  get  up  atop  of  Pike's  Peak  he  could  roll 
the  chunks  down.  From  our  camp  we  could  see  it 
shining,  high  aloft,  when  the  sun  struck  it  right.  Ain't 
that  so,  Tod?" 

"You're  right,"  concurred  the  younger  man,  nod- 
ding. 

"  What !  Solid  gold  ?  "  demanded  one  in  the  excit- 
able crowd. 

"  'Pears  like  it.    I  wouldn't  say  less." 

"Did  you  get  any  of  it?" 

"  Not  exactly,  to  speak  of.  But  we've  located  right 
at  the  mountain  foot." 


264  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

"  You  say  there's  gold  lower  down,  though  ?  " 

"  Plenty  of  it.  They're  washing  it  out  everywhere. 
That  whole  Pike's  Peak  country  of  west  Kansas  is  full 
of  gold." 

Here  Sol  put  in. 

"  It  is!    What'd  you  pull  out,  for,  then?  "  he  asked. 

"  To  spread  the  news  and  get  stocked  up  with  what 
we  need/' 

"  Suppose  you  brought  some  of  that  gold  out  with 
you." 

The  man  hesitated. 

"  Well,  we  did,"  he  asserted. 

"  I'd  be  powerfully  obliged  for  a  look  at  it,  stranger," 
invited  Sol. 

"  All  right."  The  man  fished  into  his  trousers  pocket, 
and  extracted  a  small  chunk  of  rock.  "What  do 
you  think  of  that,  then— Pike's  Peak  rock?  " 

A  murmur  spread  through  the  crowd,  and  Terry 
caught  his  breath.  The  chunk  sparkled  and  glinted 
with  yellow.  Sol  had  taken  it  and  was  examining  it — 
wet  it  with  his  tongue,  and  presently  scratched  it  with 
his  knife  point. 

"  Much  of  that?  "  he  inquired. 

"  Tons." 

"  And  all  together  not  worth  the  powder  to  blow  it 
up  with,"  declared  Sol,  carelessly  handing  the  sample 
back.  "  You  can't  fool  an  old  Calif orny  miner.  That's 
nothing  but  what  we  call  iron  pyrites — '  fool's  gold '. 
It's  too  hard  for  gold;  one  scratch  of  a  knife  point 
would  show  you  that.  And  it's  too  brassy  in  color. 


NEWS  FROM  THE  WEST  265 

If  that's  your  color,  I  wouldn't  trade  you  an  acre  of 
Kansas  land  for  your  whole  mountain." 

"  Show  him  what  you've  got,  Tod,"  directed  the 
man,  in  unbelieving  manner  pocketing  the  chunk.  And 
it  was  plain  to  be  seen  that  the  crowd  were  not  disposed 
to  believe  Sol,  either. 

From  a  little  pocket  sewed  inside  his  boot-top  the 
younger  man  drew  a  small  article,  and  passed  it  over. 
It  was  a  piece  of  goose-quill,  about  two  inches  long; 
might  once  have  been  part  of  a  pen;  or  if  not  a  goose- 
quill,  then  a  quill  from  some  other  large  bird.  But  it 
was  yellow.  No,  it  was  filled  with  yellow,  showing 
through  the  walls.  The  crowd  craned  their  necks,  to 
see. 

Sol  turned  it  about,  looked  at  the  ends,  stoppered 
with  plugs,  and  held  it  up  to  the  light. 

"  That,"  he  pronounced,  "  is  more  like  it.  Flake 
gold,  but  too  light  to  be  much  account.  I've  seen  better 
than  that  by  the  peck  measure  full.  What  else  you  got 
to  show  ?  "  And  he  handed  back  the  quill. 

"  What  else !  Isn't  that  enough  ?  "  retorted  the  elder 
man. 

"Why,"  answered  Sol,  "after  all  your  talk  you 
haven't  enough  gold  to  pay  for  a  week's  board !  "  And 
he  indignantly  elbowed  his  way  out  again.  Terry,  al- 
though he  wanted  to  stay  a  while  longer  and  hear  more, 
followed. 

"  There  may  be  gold  yonder,  in  what  they  call  the 
Pike's  Peak  country,"  observed  Sol,  "  but  those  fellows 
don't  prove  it.  They've  come  back  broke,  but  won't 
admit  it." 


266  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

"  I  wish  I'd  asked  them  about  my  father,"  said 
Terry,  with  sudden  idea.  "  Or  about  that  Mr.  Jones, 
I  mean." 

"  That's  right,"  exclaimed  Sol,  halting.  "  We  will. 
They  did  mention  the  Gieen  Russell  party,  didn't  they  1 
Wait  a  minute." 

The  crowd  were  dispersing,  as  if  to  go  to  dinner,  and 
the  two  gold  seekers  were  left  almost  alone.  With 
Terry,  Sol  went  hastily  back. 

"  One  minute,"  he  hailed.  "  You  dropped  a  word  as 
to  the  Green  Russell  party.  Whereabouts  are  they  ?  " 

"  They  were  panning  on  a  bar  in  the  Platte  River, 
when  we  left,"  replied,  rather  sullenly,  the  elder  man. 
"  Washing  out  about  ten  dollars  a  day  to  a  man." 

"  The  party'd  split  up  considerably,"  added  the 
younger  man.  "  Some  of  them  came  down  to  the  Soda 
Springs,  our  way." 

"  Didn't  meet  up  with  a  man  by  name  of  Jones,  did 
you  ?  He  went  out  from  Manhattan  with  Russell,  last 
spring." 

"  Jones  ?  Yes,  sir,  there  was  a  man  who  called  him- 
self by  name  of  Jones.  A  man  with  brown  whiskers 
and  a  white  patch  in  his  hair — some  sort  of  scar." 

"  Is  he  coming  back,  too  ?  "  demanded  Terry,  eagerly. 
"Has  he  struck  it  rich?" 

"  Can't  say,  sonny.  He  was  prospecting  'round,  like 
the  rest.  Any  relation  of  yours  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  faltered  Terry. 

"  Well,  however  that  may  be,  he's  a  queer  one. 
Seems  as  though  what  had  hurt  him  on  the  head  had 
hurt  his  mind.  Never  did  hear  him  say  where  he  was 


NEWS  FROM  THE  WEST  267 

from,  in  the  States;  but  his  head  used  to  bother  him 
every  now  and  again,  and  he'd  sort  of  forget  what  he 
was  up  to,  till  the  spell  was  over.  So  he's  liable  to 
leave,  or  he's  liable  to  stay.  We're  the  first  out,  and 
more  will  follow." 

"  He  was  well  and  hearty,  except  for  his  head,  was 
he,  when  you  last  saw  him?  "  queried  Sol. 

"  Yes,  sir.  And  I  don't  say  that  he  isn't  smart, 
either.  You  or  anybody  else  can  rest  easy  on  those 


scores." 


"  That  news,"  quoth  Sol,  to  Terry,  as  they  walked 
away,  "  beats  the  gold,  eh  ?  Little  by  little  we'll  catch 
up  with  him." 


CHAPTER  XIX 

TACKLING  THE  TIMBER 

WHEN  after  dinner  and  his  "  shopping "  at  the 
general  store  Terry  rode  out  for  Fort  Riley,  he  rode 
with  a  lighter  heart.  That  Mr.  Jones  was  his  father 
he  no  longer  had  the  slightest  doubt.  And  Sol  had 
agreed.  Here  was  a  man  who  had  been  hurt  on  the 
head,  and  had  forgotten  himself  and  had  wandered  off, 
and  now  sometimes  acted  queer,  as  if  trying  to  remem- 
ber. These  two  other  men  had  seen  him;  except  for 
his  head  trouble  he  was  "  well  and  hearty,"  they  had 
assured.  So  he  had  arrived  safely  at  the  mountains, 
and  was  looking  for  the  gold. 

That  in  itself  was  comforting  news.  Maybe  he 
would  return  this  very  summer  The  gold  seekers  were 
beginning  to  return.  Maybe  he  would  come  home  in  his 
own  mind,  with  a  sack  of  gold.  At  any  rate,  Sol  had 
engaged  to  keep  watch  of  the  travel  from  the  west, 
through  Manhattan.  Whether  he  came  in  his  right 
mind  or  not,  with  gold  or  without,  he  would  be  given 
a  big  welcome  and  would  find  his  hat  waiting  fof  him, 
at  the  ranch. 

Perhaps,  then,  they  all  would  go  out  to  the  gold 
fields;  especially  if  his  father  had  discovered  a  mine! 

268 


TACKLING  THE  TIMBER  269 

Those  two  men  had  said  that  there  was  gold  for  every- 
body. Of  course,  they  hadn't  brought  back  much — 
only  a  quill  full — and  Sol  was  skeptical;  but  the  quill 
full  was  some  proof,  and  Terry  was  certain  that  his 
father  would  find  gold  if  anybody  could. 

First,  the  ranch  must  be  put  in  shape,  to  surprise  him 
on  his  return.  They  could  not  sit  around,  waiting,  and 
depending  on  gold.  No,  sir ;  they  must  go  right  ahead 
and  work  hard. 

At  the  fort  Captain  Steuart  seemed  truly  sorry  when 
he  heard  about  the  grasshoppers  and  the  damage  they 
had  wrought.  He  readily  promised  to  take  all  the 
cord  wood  that  could  be  hauled,  and  some  long  rails 
for  corrals  and  fencing.  That  was  good.  Lieutenant 
Arnold  was  not  at  the  post ;  he  was  out  on  a  scout ;  but 
Sergeant  Murphy  was  here,  and  he  and  Mrs.  Murphy 
invited  Terry  to  supper  and  stowed  him  for  the  night. 
Before  noon  of  the  next  morning  he  was  home  again, 
to  report  upon  all  that  had  happened  on  his  trip. 

His  mother  and  Harry  voted  that  a  successful  trip 
had  it  been.  They  were  immensely  excited  to 
hear  the  latest  news  of  the  mysterious  "  Mr.  Jones  " 
(who,  they  also  agreed,  could  be  none  other  but  Father 
Richards),  and  to  know  that  at  last  account  he  was 
alive  and  well,  and  maybe  finding  gold.  However, 
Terry's  mother  was  less  interested  in  the  gold,  even  the 
quill  of  gold,  than  she  was  in  the  rest  of  the  report. 
And  Harry  paid  less  attention  to  the  gold  than  he  did 
to  the  prospect  that  they  would  sell  their  wood  and 
rails. 

"  We  must  get  busy  right  away !  "  declared  Mother 


270  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

Richards — as  if  they  had  not  always  been  busy. 
"  When  your  father  comes  I  want  him  to  find  us 
prospering  again.  It  will  mean  so  much  to  him,  to 
know  that  we  haven't  suffered  any  because  of  his 
absence — except,  of  course,  we've  missed  him." 

"  First  we'll  finish  putting  in  fresh  crops.  Then 
we'll  tackle  that  timber,  Terry,"  asserted  Harry.  "  It'll 
be  a  tough  job,  too,  but  who  cares?  Swinging  an  ax 
is  good  for  the  back." 

"  I  know  I  can  depend  on  my  two  men,"  encouraged 
Mother  Richards,  gratefully.  "  And  this  very  after- 
noon I'll  fill  those  jars  with  honey,  so  we  can  send  it  to 
town  at  the  first  opportunity." 

Harry  already  had  gathered  most  of  the  corn  from 
the  corn  field,  and  had  heaped  it  in  a  pile  near  the 
house,  where  the  cattle  could  be  kept  away  from  it. 
Some  of  it  was  pretty  good,  and  much  of  it  was  pretty 
poor;  but  there'd  be  enough  for  feed,  and  they  could 
burn  the  poor  stuff  in  the  stove.  He  had  thrown  the 
wagon  cover  over  it,  for  the  present ;  but  a  crib  would 
have  to  be  built,  to  keep  it  off  the  ground,  as  soon  as 
they  had  rails  enough. 

After  dinner  he  and  Terry  dragged  the  corn  field, 
with  the  mare  and  the  yellow  mule,  and  sowed  wheat 
broadcast  and  harrowed  it  in  with  the  oxen.  And  a 
busy  afternoon  for  all  hands  this  was. 

The  next  day  they  cleaned  up  the  garden,  rescuing 
what  portion  of  it  they  could.  When  they  had  dug  up 
the  potatoes,  and  stored  them  in  the  outside  cellar  until 
it  would  hold  no  more,  they  had  about  a  wagon  load 
left  over,  to  sell.  This  was  better  than  might  have  been 


TACKLING  THE  TIMBER  271 

expected.    They  were  small  potatoes,  but  sound  and 
well  flavored,  although  a  little  green. 

Harry  took  the  mare  and  the  mule  and  the  wagon, 
and  drove  off  with  the  potatoes  and  the  honey,  to  town, 
on  a  two  days'  trip.  He  left  Terry  to  clear  the  oat 
field,  in  case  they'd  want  to  replant  it.  And  besides, 
the  oat  heads  and  stalks  would  be  useful  as  feed.  So 
for  two  days  Terry  worked  with  scythe  and  rake — 
changing  from  one  to  the  other,  as  a  rest,  you  know. 
One  of  those  new-fangled  mowers  drawn  by  horses 
would  have  done  the  job  in  a  jiffy,  and  he  wondered 
if  they  could  not  borrow  some  kind  of  a  machine,  for 
the  hay.  This  scythe-swinging  was  awfully  hard  work. 

But  Harry  returned  enthusiastic,  with  supplies  which 
included  rye  enough  to  sow  part  of  the  oat  field,  and 
with  some  seed  potatoes.  They  put  in  the  rye  and  the 
potatoes,  and  attacked  the  hay.  Had  to  cut  it  and  rake 
it  and  stack  it  by  hand.  Rumor  said  that  down  the 
valley  some  of  the  settlers  possessed  newly  invented 
mowers,  and  even  horse  rakes ;  but  up  here  in  the  later 
settled  country  there  was  none  to  be  had,  and  the  hay 
would  not  wait. 

However,  as  a  result  of  the  steady  grinding  work,  by 
September  the  ranch  made  quite  a  showing.  No  matter 
that  the  crops  were  short,  and  of  poor  quality,  there 
they  were,  gathered.  From  the  cabin  door  anybody 
could  look  and  see  the  oat  stack,  and  the  hay  stacks, 
and  the  heap  of  corn,  and  the  potato  plants  above 
ground,  and  the  new  rye  and  wheat  greening  each  a 
large  patch — and  Terry,  for  one,  felt  proud.  He  and 
Harry  were  lean  and  hard,  their  hands  were  brown  on 


272  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

the  backs  and  calloused  on  the  palms,  but  they  had 
achieved  well  and  were  ready  for  the  next  task. 

Should  father  come  at  any  time  now,  he  would  find 
the  crops  gathered  and  showing  up ;  the  two  oxen,  the 
mare,  the  colt  grown  into  a  useful  horse,  a  cow  and  a 
half-buffalo  calf,  a  yellow  mule,  many  more  chickens, 
a  turkey;  and  three  people  (or  four,  rather,  counting 
Shep,  who  was  lively  again)  ready  to  welcome  him. 

The  next  real  task  was  in  the  timber.  They  did  not 
get  at  this  until  the  middle  of  September,  for  there  had 
been  another  trip  or  so  to  town,  with  butter  and  eggs 
and  more  honey;  the  very  necessary  building  of  the 
corn  crib  out  of  some  lumber  from  an  abandoned  claim 
(whose  tenants  had  been  frightened  away  by  the  grass- 
hoppers ) ,  to  protect  the  corn  against  the  Fall  rains ;  and 
the  regular  chores,  and  constant  odd  jobs  that  could  not 
be  delayed. 

The  Stantons  were  fully  as  busy,  although  evenings, 
once  in  a  while,  and  on  Sundays,  the  two  families 
managed  to  see  one  another.  But  the  after-supper 
school  was  given  up,  for  the  present ;  Terry  and  George 
both  were  too  dog  tired,  as  a  rule,  to  put  much  energy 
on  spelling,  arithmetic  and  geography. 

Harry  was  very  anxious  to  tackle  the  timber,  so  as 
to  build  rail  fences  around  the  stacks  and  the  grain 
fields  before  the  cattle  (not  omitting  deer  and  antelope) 
began  to  invade,  tempted  away  from  the  withering 
grasses.  And  he  wanted  shingles,  also,  for  the  cabin 
and  perhaps  the  dugout  cellar. 

"  Never  split  rails,  did  you?  "  he  asked,  of  Terry — 
with  a  little  smile. 


TACKLING  THE  TIMBER  273 

"  Never  did,"  admitted  Terry. 

"  Then  you'll  have  a  great  chance  to  learn,"  laughed 
Harry.  "  So  will  George.  He's  coming  over  to- 
morrow with  an  ax  and  all  the  muscle  he  can  bring, 
and  we're  got  an  engagement  in  the  timber." 

The  engagement  which  opened  on  the  morrow 
proved  to  be  a  long  one  Cutting  the  timber  and  split- 
ting the  rails  was  slow,  slow  work,  particularly  at  first 
while  Terry  and  George  were  getting  the  hang  of  it. 
The  Stantons  contributed  George  and  the  ax,  for  a 
share  in  the  "  crop  " ;  and  anyway,  the  timber  on  the 
Richards'  place  was  much  better  than  that  on  their 
own. 

Harry  felled  the  trees,  selecting  the  straightest  and 
tallest  of  the  oaks  and  black  walnuts.  For  a  chap  who 
was  lame  and  did  not  look  to  be  especially  strong,  he 
had  a  great  knack  at  chopping.  He  stood  back,  in  the 
clear,  so  that  he  could  just  reach  the  middle  of  the  trunk 
with  his  ax  blade;  and  having  thus  measured,  with  a 
free-arm  swing  of  the  ax  over  his  head  he  brought 
it  down,  at  an  angle — thwack !  It  landed  exactly  where 
the  edge  had  rested  a  moment  before,  and  was  buried 
slant-wise  nearly  to  the  butt,  shoulder  high  in  the  tree. 
Two  or  three  times  more  he  sunk  the  ax  head  in  the 
same  place.  Then  with  more  of  a  side  swing  he  landed 
the  blade  almost  straight  in,  two  or  three  feet  below 
the  first  cut.  A  couple  more  strokes  there,  while  the 
splinters  flew,  and  out  popped  a  large,  wedge-shaped 
chip,  leaving  a  gouge  as  clean  as  a  whistle.  The  chips 
came  out  gradually  smaller  as  the  gouge  deepened; 
and  having  cut  nearly  half  through  on  this  side,  Harry 


274  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

stepped  around  and  began  to  cut  out  chips  on  the 
opposite  side.  Before  he  had  got  half  way  through, 
here,  the  fibers  broke  and  crackled,  the  tree  swayed, 
leaned,  and  crashed  down,  to  the  side  where  he  had 
started  in. 

"  You're  a  boss  chopper,"  praised  George.  For  the 
top  of  the  stump  was  as  smooth  as  if  chiseled,  except 
where  a  spike  of  broken  wood  stood  in  the  middle. 

"Well,  I  didn't  chew  it  up  much,  that's  a  fact," 
acknowledged  Harry,  surveying  the  stump  with  some 
satisfaction.  "  I  hate  a  ragged  stump.  It  means 
wasted  strokes  and  lost  motion.  I  like  to  make  every 
stroke  count — each  following  where  the  other  quit. 
That's  one  secret  of  falling  a  tree.  And  another  secret 
is  making  your  chips  big  to  begin  with,  for  if  you  don't 
start  with  a  good-sized  cut,  before  you  get  in  very  far 
you'll  not  have  room  enough  and  will  jam  your  ax. 
Of  course,  that  depends  on  how  thick  the  trunk  is.  The 
thicker  the  trunk,  the  bigger  the  cut  to  begin  with.  A 
three-foot  chip  for  a  four-foot  trunk  is  a  safe  plan." 

"  Jiminy !  Wish  I  could  fall  a  tree  in  a  hurry,  like 
that,"  quoth  George,  admiringly.  "  Doesn't  look  hard, 
either.  You  aren't  even  puffing." 

"Expect  I  will  be  puffing,  though,  before  we're 
through,"  laughed  Harry.  "  Two  men  to  a  tree,  one 
chopping  right  handed  and  one  left  handed,  is  the 
proper  caper.  Two  good  men  ought  to  fall  a  five- foot 
tree  in  half  an  hour." 

"  You  hold  your  ax  clear  at  the  end  of  the  handle, 
don't  you !  "  proffered  Terry.  "  And  you  hit  in  the 
same  places  whenever  you  want  to." 


TACKLING  THE  TIMBER 


275 


"  Try  to,  anyway.  Start  the  argument  and  drive 
it  home.  Yes,  a  fellow  gets  a  better  swing  and  more 
force  with  less  effort  if  he  holds  the  ax  by  the  end  of 
the  handle.  That's  what  the  knob  on  the  end  is  for — 
to  give  him  a  grip  so  the  handle  won't  slip.  You 
don't  need  to  hold  so  very  tight — got  to  have  an  easy 
grip,  is  all — and  if  the  ax  is  rightly  balanced  you  can 
bring  it  down  with  your  shoulders  and  back  so  it  will 
sink  out  of  sight.  You  slant  it  in,  more  or  less,  at  every 
stroke,  so  it  won't  stick.  But  you  want  to  watch  out 
that  it  doesn't  glance  and  cut  a  leg  off.  That's  about 
all  I  was  taught;  to  save  your  muscle  as  much  as  you 
can  and  make  the  ax  do  the  work.  Some  axes  are 
better  balanced  than  others.  This  is  a  pretty  good  one." 

"  Did  you  mean  to  have  this  tree  land  there  on  that 
spot,  like  you  did  the  bee  tree  ?  "  queried  George.  "  I 
guess  you  did.  We  saw  you  sort  of  scouting  and  plan- 
ning." 

"  A  scientific  ax-man  can  lay  a  tree  so  it  will  drive 
a  peg  with  its  trunk,"  asserted  Harry.  He  scratched 
his  nose,  reflectively.  "  But  an  ordinary  chopper's  got 
to  be  content  with  not  driving  himself  instead  of  the 
peg,  or  hanging  his  tree  up  in  another  tree.  You 
usually  start  the  first  cut  in  the  tree  on  the  side  where 
you  expect  it  to  fall.  That  makes  it  lean  more  or  less, 
and  you'll  be  finishing  on  the  side  where  it  won't  fall. 
If  it  leans  in  that  direction  in  the  beginning,  that's 
where  it  will  fall  anyway,  unless  it  bounces  sideways, 
from  another  tree.  Some  ax-men  figure  on  the  bounce 
and  will  land  a  tree  just  about  wherever  you  tell  them 
to.  And  by  cutting  a  quarter  way  'round,  extending 


276  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

the  first  cut,  they'll  swing  it,  and  land  it.  I've  seen 
men  who  can  handle  a  big  tree  like  a  fishing  pole. 
But  what  I'm  always  afraid  of  is  a  kick-up,  when  the 
cut  doesn't  break  true,  and  a  branch  strikes  the  ground 
unexpectedly  and  bounces  the  butt.  Then  a  fellow  has 
to  take  his  chances  to  get  out  of  the  way  in  a  hurry. 
But  you're  here  to  split  rails,  aren't  you?  I'll  log  this 
tree  for  you  and  you  can  start  in." 

He  quickly  lopped  off  some  of  the  branches  so  that 
the  trunk  settled  securely;  and  pacing  three  paces  and 
a  half  pace  from  the  butt  stood  upon  the  trunk  there 
and  chopped  between  his  feet.  Again  the  chips  flew. 
He  plied  the  ax  until  with  a  final  stroke  he  had  severed 
the  trunk  into  a  ten  foot  length. 

Now  the  ten  foot  log  was  to  be  split  into  rails.  Harry 
sank  his  ax  blade  into  the  end,  on  top,  and  into  the 
cleft  drove  an  iron  wedge,  pounding  it  home  with  the 
maul  or  sledge  which  had  been  brought  from  the  house. 
As  the  log  began  to  crack,  he  followed  the  crack  with 
his  ax,  cutting  the  tough  cross  splinters.  Soon  the 
crack  was  wide  enough  so  that  he  could  move  the 
wedge  farther  along.  Then  he  handed  the  job  over  to 
the  boys. 

Terry  took  the  wedge  and  maul,  George  handled  the 
ax;  and  before  Harry  had  felled  another  tree  the  log 
had  been  split  open  and  the  halves  were  being  sub- 
divided into  rails,  by  the  same  process. 

They  got  six  rails  out  of  this  log,  which  was  good  for 
the  first  attempt.  They  were  tremendously  heavy  rails, 
four  rather  too  thick,  with  two  rather  too  thin ;  and  on 
the  whole  represented  small  results  from  an  hour  and 


TACKLING  THE  TIMBER  277 

a  half 's  work.  Terry  figured  that  at  this  rate  Christmas 
would  come  before  there  were  rails  enough  for  one 
fence. 

Harry  paused  to  explain  that  two  persons  clever  with 
axes  would  do  quicker  work  by  dispensing  with  the 
wedge  and  maul,  and  splitting  the  rails  with  the  axes 
alone — chopping  a  straight  line,  down  the  grain,  each 
ax  alternately  freeing  the  other  by  opening  the  crack 
just  ahead  of  it.  But  this  took  a  keen  eye  and  much 
care,  lest  the  ax  glance. 

Thus  they  toiled  all  day :  Harry  felling  and  logging 
the  trees,  the  boys  splitting  the  logs  into  rails.  What 
with  incessantly  pounding  and  chopping,  and  dragging 
the  rails  aside  out  of  the  way,  and  raising  huge  blisters 
and  getting  splinters  in  their  hands  (and  a  fellow  had 
to  be  mighty  cautious  not  to  let  the  crack  close  on  his 
fingers  while  extracting  the  wedge  or  slipping  and 
falling),  by  evening  and  chore  time  they  all  were  dead 
tired.  However,  they  had  about  a  wagon  load  of  the 
heavy  green  rails,  waiting  to  be  hauled.  And  such  a 
quantity,  already,  of  fire  wood:  the  chips,  scattered 
about,  and  the  tops  of  the  felled  trees,  and  the  waste 
from  the  logs !  Would  the  work,  begun,  ever  be  done ! 

But  Harry  was  a  wonder.  The  size  of  the  task 
seemed  not  to  appal  him  in  the  least.  Morning  after 
morning  he  bounced  out  of  bed  before  full  sun  rise, 
threw  his  pillow  at  Terry  and  teased  him  until  he  fol- 
lowed ;  they  jumped  into  the  chores ;  and  directly  after 
breakfast  trudged  away  for  the  timber,  Shep  accom- 
panying. When  George  could  not  come  over,  they 


278  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

managed  to  do  without  him.  And  day  after  day  the 
piles  of  rails  increased  in  number. 

They  did  not  wait  to  season  the  rails,  for  fencing; 
but  with  the  ox  team  hauled  them  from  the  timber  and 
distributed  them  one  by  one.  They  crossed  short  rails, 
scissors  shape,  or  like  an  '  X ',  setting  them  on  end  over 
a  large  chunk ;  thrust  a  rail  through,  half  its  length,  be- 
tween the  chunk  and  the  lower  angle,  and  laid  the  end 
of  another  rail  in  the  upper  angle.  Thus  the  '  X  '  was 
braced  and  could  not  close.  The  other  ends  of  the  rails 
rested  on  the  ground,  so  that  the  rails  slanted  upward, 
in  a  series,  with  '  X's '  every  five  feet,  to  support  the 
middle  of  one  rail  and  the  end  of  another.  This  was  a 
buck  fence,  rapidly  thrown  up. 

George,  and  now  and  then  his  father,  helped;  and 
when  Mr.  Stanton  hauled  rails  for  himself,  Harry  and 
Terry  took  a  day  off  from  the  timber  and  helped  him. 

The  rails  were  not  the  only  product  of  the  timber. 
The  felled  trunks  were  logged  into  six-foot  lengths, 
and  split  into  cord-wood,  for  the  fort.  And  there 
were  the  shingles,  or  shakes. 

To  make  shingles  it  was  necessary  to  cut  the 
straightest-grained  logs  into  chunks  about  fourteen 
inches  long,  and  peel  the  bark  off.  Then  the  chunk  was 
quartered,  with  the  grain,  through  the  middle;  and 
from  the  widest  faces  of  the  quarters  thin  slabs  were 
split. 

Harry  traded  some  rails  for  clapboarding  (although 
he  could  have  made  rough  clapboards,  like  rails  were 
split),  and  he  and  Terry  shingled  the  cabin  and  the 
cellar ;  tacked  strips  from  end  to  end,  across  the  shingle 


TACKLING  THE  TIMBER  279 

butts,  to  hold  them  in  place;  tacked  the  strips  with 
wooden  spikes,  or  treenails,  to  save  the  cost  of  iron 
nails.  And  while  the  job  was  not  very  fancy,  when 
finished,  the  roof  proved  perfectly  weather  proof. 

The  weather  held  constantly  fine.  A  goodly  supply 
of  fire  wood  was  piled  against  the  cabin,  and  plenty 
more  remained  in  the  timber.  Rails  and  cordwood 
were  easily  sold  or  traded,  down  the  valley,  and  in  town 
and  at  the  post,  whenever  Harry  or  Terry  was  ready  to 
haul  a  load  out,  with  the  mare  and  mule  or  with  ox 
team.  The  nights  grew  crisp,  but  aided  by  the  warm 
sunny  days  and  the  occasional,  welcomed  rains  the 
potatoes  and  the  grain  thrived  apace. 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE  GIFT  OF  THE  BLIZZARD 

WHAT  a  wonderfully  fine  Fall  this  proved  to  be! 
The  timber  yielded  not  only  an  abundance  of  rails  and 
shingles  and  fuel,  but  also  hickory  nuts  and  walnuts, 
wild  plums  and  grapes,  and  now  and  then  a  fat  turkey. 
After  a  week  of  frequent  rain,  the  weather  settled  into 
a  long  Indian  Summer,  of  clear  nights  and  still,  sunny 
days  during  which  the  grain  ripened  amazingly.  All 
through  the  valley  the  ranchers  were  harvesting  in 
haste,  to  make  sure  of  these  their  second  crops  before 
the  first  snow  arrived  to  crush  the  slender  stalks. 

A  thresher  traveled  from  place  to  place ;  and  by  the 
time  that  it  appeared  at  the  Richards*  ranch  Harry 
and  Terry  had  mowed  their  wheat  and  rye  and  had 
shocked  it,  in  readiness.  The  stand  was  not  so  heavy 
as  it  might  have  been,  and  many  of  the  heads  had  not 
filled  out;  but  the  yield  more  than  repaid  the  efforts 
that  had  been  put  upon  achieving  it. 

After  the  threshing,  by  horse-power,  Harry  hauled 
the  grain  to  the  mill  at  Manhattan  and  returned  with 
flour. 

So  the  first  week  of  December  found  the  ranch  well 
provisioned  against  the  winter.  The  only  thing  lack- 
ing was  Terry's  father.  He  had  not  come,  and  there 

280 


THE  GIFT  OF  THE  BLIZZARD        281 

was  no  further  word  of  him.  A  number  of  other  gold 
seekers  had  traveled  eastward  through  Manhattan — and 
a  number  had  gone  out  to  the  mountains,  enthused  by 
the  reports.  But  of  any  "  Mr.  Jones  "  not  a  particle 
more  news  had  been  gathered. 

On  this  Terry  reflected  as  he  left  with  the  ox  team 
and  wagon,  to  take  a  last  load  of  cord- wood  to  Fort 
Riley.  The  weather  was  likely  to  break,  any  day,  and 
the  chances  were  that  the  load  was  the  last  to  be  de- 
livered for  some  months.  One  big  snow  would  tie  the 
ranch  up,  as  to  heavy  hauling.  That  was  why  he  used 
the  ox  team;  they  were  sturdier  pullers,  in  a  pinch, 
and  should  a  storm  come  and  make  the  road  heavy, 
they  would  get  him  through.  But  they  were  slow,  and 
with  ox  team  the  round  trip  to  Manhattan  or  Fort  Riley 
occupied  three  days. 

It  was  a  soft,  sweet  morning.  Basking  in  the  early 
sunshine  the  ranch  looked  at  its  best.  The  yellow 
stubble  of  the  two  grain  fields  surrounded  by  the  fences ; 
the  short,  self -cured  grass  which  furnished  famous 
grazing;  the  cow  and  her  half-buffalo  calf,  the  colt, 
the  mare  and  the  yellow  mule  industriously  feeding 
there ;  the  chickens  and  Pete  the  tamed  turkey  picking 
and  chattering  in  the  recent  rye  patch ;  the  well  stocked 
granary  and  corn  crib  and  the  hay  stacks ;  the  filled-to- 
bur sting  outdoor  cellar;  overlooking  all,  the  comfort- 
able shingled  cabin,  with  his  mother  singing  at  her 
work,  and  the  blows  of  Harry's  ax  echoing  from  the 
timber  where  he  was  trimming  some  clapboards — this 
thrilled  Terry  with  pride.  It  was  his  ranch  or  at  least 
was  part  his,  for  he  had  helped  to  make  it.  If  only 


282  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

his  father  would  appear  and  see,  and  know,  then  happi- 
ness would  be  complete.  The  ranch  lacked  just  that: 
father.  They  three  had  so  frequently  thought  of  him, 
and  really  had  worked  hard  to  get  things  ready  for 
him.  His  hat  was  a  poor  substitute,  and  it  still  hung 
on  the  peg,  waiting. 

Buck  and  Spot,  the  oxen,  trudged  steadily;  Shep, 
alongside,  had  no  difficulty  keeping  up.  That  night 
Terry  stayed  at  the  hospitable  Andrews  ranch,  down 
the  valley  and  over  half  way  on  his  journey ;  and  by  the 
next  noon  trundled  into  Fort  Riley,  where  Captain 
Steuart  and  Lieutenant  Arnold  and  old  Sergeant 
Murphy  were  very  glad  to  see  him. 

"  An*  when  be  ye  startin'  home,  may  I  ask  ? "  in- 
quired the  sergeant. 

"  This  afternoon,  maybe,"  answered  Terry.  "  I 
thought  I'd  stop  in  Manhattan,  and  get  some  stuff  for 
the  ranch." 

"  I'd  advise  ye  to  go  home  straight,  my  boy,"  spoke 
the  sergeant,  with  a  wag  of  his  carroty  head.  "  An' 
as  quick  as  you  can  travel.  I'm  thinkin'  there's  a  storm 
comin'.  I  feel  it  in  my  bones." 

"  I  don't  see  any  sign  of  it,  though,"  argued  Terry ; 
for  the  day  was  warm  and  placid — a  perfect  Indian 
Summer  day. 

"  No  ?  "  And  the  sergeant  again  wagged  his  head 
dubiously.  "  But  I  can  tell.  If  you'd  lived  on  the 
plains  as  long  as  I  have,  you  could  tell,  too.  The  birds 
tell  me,  an*  the  beasts  tell  me,  an'  my  bones  tell  me, 
an'  the  Injuns  say  the  same.  There's  the  feel  in  the 
air.  I  don't  look  for  it  this  night,  or  maybe  to-morrow; 


THE  GIFT  OF  THE  BLIZZARD        283 

but  there's  a  norther  brewin',  and  when  it  comes  it'll 
come  with  its  tail  up.  'Twould  be  a  bad  thing  for 
ye  to  be  caught  on  the  trail,  an*  I'd  order  ye  to  stay,  but 
belike  your  mother'd  be  worried  frantic,  an'  if  you  start 
at  wance  like  as  not  you'll  beat  it.  So  if  I  were  you  I'd 
lave  Manhattan  for  another  time  an'  strike  for  home 
by  the  shortest  route.  Sure,  travelin'  light,  an'  takin' 
the  cut-off  to  the  valley,  you  might  go  a  good  ways  yet 
before  dark,  an'  by  the  morrow  evenin'  or  before  ye'd 
be  safe  where  ye  belong  and  an'  save  your  mother  all 
the  worry." 

Yes,  it  seemed  to  be  the  general  opinion  around  the 
post  that  a  bad  storm  was  at  hand.  After  their  noon 
feed  and  rest  Buck  and  Spot  were  in  good  shape;  so 
Terry  accepted  the  advice  given  him  and  started  for 
home,  not  by  the  main  road  down-river  to  Manhattan, 
but  by  a  cut-off  which  from  the  high  table-land  whereon 
was  located  Fort  Riley  crossed  over  northeastward  into 
the  Valley  of  the  Blue.  It  was  used  as  a  timber-hauling 
road. 

Buck  and  Spot,  headed  for  home,  plodded  briskly; 
and  Terry,  seated  in  the  empty  wagon,  driving  with  his 
voice  and  the  long-lashed  whip,  urged  them  on  while 
the  wagon  clattered  and  jolted  under  him. 

The  sun  set  clear  and  golden  when  in  the  Valley 
of  the  Blue  again  he  halted  at  another  of  those  settler 
cabins  whose  doors  were  always  open  to  the  wayfarer. 
Settler  Emory  and  his  wife  also  were  fearful  that  the 
weather  was  about  to  break.  They  had  lived  in  the 
valley  for  three  years,  and  claimed  that  they  knew  the 
weather.  After  such  a  Fall  the  change  would  come 


284  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

on  a  sudden — and  it  was  coming  soon.  But  they 
thought  that  Terry  would  get  home. 

Terry  was  not  a  whit  alarmed.  The  main  road  up 
the  valley  was  an  old  friend  of  his;  in  his  mind's  eye 
he  could  sketch  every  inch  of  it.  Now  on  the  home 
stretch  he  had  no  thought  of  delaying  to  wait  upon  the 
weather.  If  he  did  wait,  and  a  storm  did  set  in,  his 
mother,  and  Harry,  too,  would  imagine  all  sorts  of 
harrowing  things.  His  mother  (as  the  sergeant  had 
said)  likely  would  "  worry  herself  frantic  ",  and  Harry 
probably  would  ride  out  into  the  storm,  searching  for 
him. 

When  he  rumbled  out,  with  team  and  wagon,  in  the 
early  morning,  another  beautiful  day  was  promised  by 
sun  and  sky.  But  by  the  time  that  he  had  traveled  five 
miles,  even  he  could  sense  the  change  impending.  The 
air  was  soft  and  still,  and  yet  over  the  blue  sky  was 
creeping  a  haze,  so  that  the  sun  seemed  farther  away. 
While  the  haze  closed  in,  the  landscape  appeared  to  be 
watching  it,  and  through  the  stillness  the  voices  from 
the  ranches  and  the  cawing  of  the  crows  sounded  un- 
usually loud. 

Terry  cracked  his  lash  over  his  oxen's  backs,  to 
hasten  the  pace,  and  proceeded  blithely. 

"  Buck !  Spot !  G'lang !  "  he  encouraged.  But  no- 
body can  well  hurry  oxen.  Buck  and  Spot  were  trudg- 
ing as  fast  as  was  comfortable.  Shep,  his  tongue  out, 
ambled  behind  the  wagon. 

The  haze  overhead  had  thickened ;  all  the  brightness 
of  the  day  was  paled,  and  the  sun  shone  dimly  from 
amidst  a  ring.  The  tops  of  the  hills  stood  out  darkened 


THE  GIFT  OF  THE  BLIZZARD        285 

and  very  sharp  against  the  drab  horizon.  The  air  had 
chilled  perceptibly.  There  was  now  no  doubt  that  the 
storm  would  arrive  soon.  But  the  familiar  road 
stretched  onward ;  it  led  past  ranches  from  which  people 
waved  or  shouted  greetings  to  Terry — they  all  knew 
Terry  Richards,  of  the  Richards  place  up  the  valley — 
and  bore  travelers  other  than  himself. 

"  Change  in  the  weather.    Going  to  snow." 

"  Reckon  so"  agreed  Terry,  cheerfully.  "  Buck ! 
Spot!  G'lang!" 

By  noon  he  was  more  than  half  way.  He  decided 
not  to  stop  for  dinner,  and  paused  only  to  water  the 
oxen  at  a  trough.  The  day  had  thickened  amazingly; 
the  haze  had  closed  down,  the  sun  was  gone,  the  air 
was  emphatically  chill  and  raw,  and  a  vague  moaning 
drifted  from  the  distant  hills  in  the  west.  That  was  a 
breeze,  heard  before  felt,  humming  a  storm  song.  The 
birds  were  flitting  restlessly ;  and  now  and  then  the  sun- 
flower stalks  and  the  other  weeds  rustled  uneasily,  as  if 
afraid. 

Whew,  how  cold  it  was  growing,  as  well  as  dark! 
Terry  already  had  put  on  his  coat;  he  buttoned  it  up 
around  his  neck,  and  swung  his  lash  vigorously,  not 
only  to  urge  on  Buck  and  Spot  but  also  to  keep  himself 
warmer.  He  had  left  the  major  portion  of  the  settled 
valley  behind  him;  from  here  onward  the  ranches 
thinned  out  rapidly,  and  the  road  was  less  and  less 
traveled  until  beyond  the  Stanton  ranch  it  was  merely 
a  road  which  he  and  Harry  had  made,  on  their  trips 
out  and  in. 

Everything  was  so  dull  and  dark  that  there  was  no 


286  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

way  of  telling  the  time.  The  birds  had  ceased  twitter- 
ing on  the  prairie;  even  the  weeds  were  silent;  the 
intervals  between  ranches  were  long.  And  all  alone 
he  rumbled  on,  anxiously  eying  the  sky. 

He  began  to  see  his  breath,  and  the  puffing  breath  of 
the  oxen.  Jiminy!  Was  it  getting  as  cold  as  that? 
He  jumped  off,  to  trot  awhile  at  the  fore  wheel  and 
limber  up.  The  breeze  from  the  west  suddenly  soughed 
louder  and  flared  his  hat  brim  with  a  raw,  warning 
gust;  and  when  he  glanced  westward,  alarmed,  all  the 
hills  had  vanished  in  a  white  mist.  The  breeze  had 
veered  into  the  north  of  west;  the  storm  had  crossed 
the  dividing  ridge  arid  was  in  the  Valley  of  the  Blue, 
and  he  had  ten  miles  to  go. 

However,  that  was  nothing,  on  a  plain  road  through 
this  familiar  country.  He  had  passed  the  ranches  ex- 
cept the  Stanton  ranch,  but  this  lay  only  about  eight 
miles  before,  and  beyond  that  by  a  short  space  was 
home.  Once  at  the  Stanton  ranch  he  would  be  safe; 
could  borrow  a  horse  and  saddle,  if  necessary. 

"Buck!    Spot!    G'lang!" 

In  five  minutes  it  was  snowing.  At  first  the  flakes 
were  small,  driven  fiercely  by  a  strong  wind  and  sting- 
ing his  cheek,  as  bent  forward  he  trudged  beside  the 
wagon,  calling  to  his  oxen.  Speedily  the  flakes  in- 
creased in  size  and  number;  they  filled  the  air,  with 
their  long  lines  of  flight  weaving  a  dense  net-work  that 
instantaneously  blotted  out  the  landscape,  and  enclosed 
him  in  a  mesh.  They  plastered  his  face  and  coat,  and 
turned  the  oxen  and  the  road  white.  It  was  a  big 
storm. 


THE  GIFT  OF  THE  BLIZZARD         287 

Shep,  his  shaggy  fur  made  heavy,  took  refuge  under 
the  wagon,  where  he  occasionally  shook  himself  as  he 
ambled.  The  snow  piled  up  rapidly.  Soon  Terry  could 
not  see  the  road,  except  where  the  ruts  had  crushed  the 
sod  and  weeds;  and  the  ruts  themselves  were  being 
leveled  by  the  white  flood. 

Buck  and  Spot,  heads  low,  snorted  as  they  strained 
in  the  yoke.  This,  and  the  creaking  yoke  and  wagon, 
were  the  only  sounds  to  be  heard.  Forming  a  little 
world  of  his  own,  through  that  other,  strange  world 
which  he  did  not  recognize  pushed  Terry.  He  could 
not  make  out  the  road  at  all,  now,  and  every  landmark 
had  disappeared,  flattened  by  the  snow,  but  he  was  cer- 
tain that  he  was  heading  right. 

By  its  magic  touch,  how  quickly  the  snow  had 
changed  things!  He  had  no  idea  where  he  was — 
couldn't  see  beyond  the  oxen,  anyway.  Walking  was 
getting  difficult ;  he  stumbled,  trudging  ankle  deep,  and 
was  wringing  wet  with  perspiration.  So  he  climbed 
aboard,  and  drew  over  him  the  buffalo  robe  that  he  had 
used  as  a  pad  to  sit  on.  This  was  more  comfortable. 
The  air  was  growing  icy,  and  he  could  wrap  up  his  red, 
wet  hands. 

The  oxen  toiled,  and  blew  to  clear  their  nostrils. 
The  wagon,  its  rumble  dulled  by  the  snow,  rolled  on. 
Terry  sat  hunched,  and  wondered  where  he  was,  with 
his  outfit.  It  seemed  to  him  he  must  be  near  the 
Stanton  place,  but  he  had  seen  no  fences  or  house. 
Would  he  never,  never  get  anywhere  ?  In  fact,  was  he 
on  the  road  at  all?  The  wagon  lunged  suspiciously, 
and  under  the  wheels  weeds  crackled. 


288  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

"  Buck !  Spot !  G'lang !  "  he  appealed,  desperately. 
"  What's  the  matter  with  you !  Hep !  " 

He  was  not  cold,  but  the  snow  in  his  face  made  him 
drowsy.  He  may  have  dozed  off;  at  any  rate,  he  was 
aroused  to  action  by  the  wagon  stopping.  He  opened 
his  eyes  and  peered.  An  object  loomed  whitely,  just 
ahead.  The  oxen  were  staring  and  snorting. 

It  was  a  horse — a  saddled  horse,  standing  huddled, 
tail  to  the  storm;  and  another  object,  of  mingled  white 
and  black,  on  the  ground  beside  it.  A  man! 
Thoroughly  awakened,  Terry  threw  off  his  buffalo  robe 
and  plumped  out. 

The  man  was  sitting  with  his  head  almost  between 
his  knees,  and  the  bridle  lines  fast  gripped  in  one  stiff 
hand.  The  snow  had  lodged  in  a  white  layer  upon  his 
back  and  hat,  so  he  probably  had  been  here  some  time. 
He  wore  a  black  slouch  hat  and  an  old  overcoat,  but 
his  hands  were  bare.  His  overcoat  collar  was  turned 
up. 

"  Hello!  "  cried  Terry.  "  Here!  You'd  better  get 
up.  You  can't  sit  there." 

The  figure  stirred  a  trifle,  and  mumbled  thickly. 
Terry  stooped  and  grasped  his  shoulder. 

"  Get  up.  Can't  you  get  up?  "  And—"  You  must 
get  up !  You'll  freeze." 

Shep  trotted  out  from  under  the  wagon,  curious  to 
see  what  was  happening.  He  gingerly  sniffed  of  the 
figure — lifted  his  tail  and  began  to  bark.  That  bark 
seemed  to  penetrate  farther  than  had  Terry's  voice,  for 
the  figure  stirred  again,  and  did  make  an  attempt  to 
rise.  But  he  sank  back. 


I 

I) 


THE  GIFT  OF  THE  BLIZZARD        289 

"  I'll  help  you.  I'll  put  you  in  the  wagon/1  shouted 
Terry.  "Try  to  walk." 

He  thrust  his  hands  under  the  figure's  arms  and 
lifted  stoutly.  The  figure  strove,  too ;  apparently  knew 
that  something  was  being  done  for  him.  Terry  lifted 
him  part  way — but  his  legs  gave  out  from  under  him, 
and  he  and  Terry  came  down  together.  His  hat  fell 
off.  Shep  was  barking  more  wildly  than  ever — and 
straightening  for  another  effort  Terry  saw  that  the 
man's  hair  was  marked  with  a  long  white  blotch !  Not 
snow — not  a  bit  of  it.  It  was  white  hair — over  a  scar ! 
Yes,  sir.  Now  the  bearded  face  also  was  revealed; 
and  peering,  Terry  uttered  a  gasp  of  astonishment. 
But  Shep  had  known,  first. 

"  Father !  Don't  you  know  me  ?  "  appealed  Terry. 
"It's  Terry!  I'm  Terry!  Hurrah!  Please  help. 
I've  got  the  wagon  right  here.  You  get  in  and  I'll  take 
you  home — take  you  to  the  ranch.  It's  only  a  little 
way." 

He  tugged,  again,  lifting.  His  father  tried,  as  if  he 
had  understood.  The  lines  had  fallen  from  his  grasp ; 
his  feet  were  numb,  evidently — did  not  work,  and  he 
was  stiff  all  through.  But  Terry  managed  to  hold  him 
upright,  and  half  carried  him,  half  dragged  him,  to 
the  wagon;  supported  him  and  placed  one  of  his  feet 
on  the  wheel  hub,  and  his  hands  on  the  edge  of  the 
wagon  bed.  Then  braced  behind  him  and  shoved — 
gradually  raised  him  forward  (while  he  fumbled  and 
wavered)  until  he  pitched  in  and  fell  in  a  heap. 

Terry  scrambled  in  after  him ;  straightened  him  out, 
and  snatching  the  buffalo  robe  rolled  him  in  it.  Father ! 


290  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

Think  of  that!  Father!  He  must  have  been  on  his 
way  home.  Where  had  he  come  from  ?  But  no  mat- 
ter. Here  he  was,  and  he  had  been  rescued  just  in  time. 
What  good  fortune!  Supposing  the  oxen  had  not 
stopped.  Why,  they  might  have  passed  right  by.  Or 
supposing  he,  Terry,  had  waited,  at  Fort  Riley,  or 
down  the  valley,  on  account  of  the  storm !  It  seemed 
as  though  he  had  been  led  right  to  this  spot,  at  this 
critical  moment. 

But  Terry  did  not  delay  to  speculate  with  himself. 
Hustle,  was  the  word.  He  ran  to  the  saddled  horse, 
seized  the  hanging  lines  and  led  it  (stiff  was  the  horse, 
too)  and  fastened  it  to  the  tail  of  the  wagon. 

"  Shep !  Good  old  Shep !  We  found  dad !  "  he  en- 
couraged. Shep,  shaking  his  wet  hide,  barked  joyously. 

Terry  climbed  to  the  seat  and  swung  his  lash. 

"Buck!  Spot!  Hep!  G'lang,  now.  Home! 
Home!" 

The  oxen  started,  the  wagon  lurched  to  their  tugs, 
and  through  the  driving  snow  forged  ahead,  across  the 
whitely  veiled  expanse. 

This  was  not  the  road,  though ;  it  certainly  was  not 
the  road.  It  was  not  any  road.  The  tires  crushed  too 
many  weeds,  and  sometimes  dead  sunflower  stalks 
brushed  the  seat.  Terry,  urging  the  team,  no  longer 
was  cold  or  sleepy;  he  was  all  alert  and  eager,  but  he 
began  to  be  alarmed.  Where  was  he,  and  where  were 
the  oxen  going  with  him,  and  with  his  father?  The 
storm  was  biting  his  face,  as  if  the  wind,  or  he,  had 
shifted  direction.  The  road  was  lost — he  was  lost,  and 


THE  GIFT  OF  THE  BLIZZARD        291 

evidently  was  out  somewhere  on  the  broad,  trackless 
prairie. 

The  wagon  lurched,  and  Terry  lurched  with  it. 
White  was  he,  white  was  the  buffalo  robe  on  the  wagon 
bed  behind  him,  and  white  were  the  plodding  oxen 
before,  wading  to  their  knees  in  that  other  whiteness. 
Alternately  he  shouted  at  them  and  looked  for  land- 
marks. Ever  the  wagon  moved,  but  it  never  arrived. 
Suddenly  the  oxen  stopped,  as  if  to  rest,  panting. 
They  would  not  advance,  in  spite  of  his  urging  with 
voice  and  lash.  Out  he  jumped,  alighting  on  stinging 
feet,  and  plowed  around  to  their  heads.  No  wonder 
that  they  would  not  go  on;  they  had  come  to  a  fence, 
squarely  across  their  path. 

A  fence!  Whose  fence?  It  was  a  "buck"  rail 
fence,  like  the  fences  on  the  ranch,  but  also  like  the 
fences  on  the  Stanton  ranch  and  on  many  another  ranch 
in  the  valley;  and  what  kind  of  a  field  it  enclosed  he 
could  not  tell,  because  of  the  snow.  One  thing  was 
sure :  he  had  lost  the  road. 

The  fence  dimly  stretched  without  end,  on  either 
hand.  Which  way  should  he  turn,  to  get  to  a  house  or 
into  the  open  ?  Maybe  he'd  better  set  off  on  foot,  and 
leave  the  team.  No,  that  wouldn't  do.  He  didn't  dare 
to.  The  team  might  move,  and  he'd  not  be  able  to  find 
them  again,  and  his  father.  That  would  be  horrible. 

Shep  came  out,  snuffing  about.  He'd  try  Shep. 
Dogs  ought  to  know,  if  oxen  didn't. 

"Here,  Shep.  Home,  old  boy!  Home,  Shep!  Go 
home !  "  essayed  Terry. 

But  Shep  only  gamboled,  and  barked  impatiently; 


292  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

put  his  fore  paws  up  to  the  wagon  bed  and  barked  and 
wanted  to  climb  in.  The  more  Terry  ordered,  the  more 
Shep  barked,  while  the  snow  sifted  down  and  the  wind 
moaned  drearily,  and  the  oxen  stood  drooping,  near 
spent. 

Terry  was  getting  chilled  through. 

"  Gee,  Buck !    Hep  with  you !    Gee !    Gee,  now !  " 

At  a  venture  he  turned  them  to  the  right,  along  the 
fence.  Shep  barked — but  whether  he  barked  just  be- 
cause they  were  moving  again,  or  because  they  were 
going  right,  or  wrong,  Terry  had  no  idea.  Listen, 
though !  Wasn't  that  a  whoop — a  halloo,  smothered  by 
the  flakes? 

Shep  heard.  His  ears  were  pricked,  and  he  halted 
with  cold  foot  uplifted. 

"  Whoop-ee !  "  shrilled  Terry,  with  all  lungs. 

An  answer  drifted  on  the  wind.  His  heart  glowed 
with  hope  renewed.  He  urged  on  Buck  and  Spot,  and 
shouted  repeatedly. 

"Whoo-oo-pee!" 

"  Whoo-oo-pee !  "  drifted  the  replies. 

"  Hello !  Where  are  you  ?  "  The  voice  was  nearer 
— seemed  to  issue  from  behind  him. 

"  Here !  "  called  Terry.    "  Whoa-oa !  " 

"All  right.  Stand  still.  We're  coming.  Keep 
calling." 

Terry  waited,  and  called.  In  a  minute  more  he  saw 
them — two  horsemen,  riding  slowly  down  upon  him, 
from  toward  the  rear.  One  was  Harry,  wasn't  it? 
Yes !  And  the  other  was  Sol  Judy.  They  were  snow- 


THE  GIFT  OF  THE  BLIZZARD        293 

covered,  but  by  their  strained  anxious  faces  they  were 
well  frightened. 

"  That  you,  Terry  ?  Thank  God !  "  exclaimed  Harry, 
from  the  back  of  the  mare. 

"  Where  you  going,  boy  ?  "  demanded  Sol,  huge  in 
a  great  buffalo  coat.  "  Where  do  you  think  you* re 
heading?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  faltered  Terry.  "  I  want  to  get 
home,  but  I  lost  the  road,  and  then  this  fence  stopped 


me." 


"  Lucky  it  did,"  said  Sol.  "  But  turn  around,  turn 
around.  You're  heading  for  the  Missouri  River. 
You're  'way,  'way  off  the  trail." 

"  Whose  fence  is  it?  "  pleaded  Terry.  "  Is  it  ours? 
Have  I  passed  the  Stantons'  ?  " 

"  Yes.  But  this  is  their  new  patch  that  they  fenced 
in,  on  their  east  line.  You're  clear  over  to  the  east, 
boy,"  explained  Harry.  "  We've  been  riding  for  two 
hours,  and  had  about  given  you  up  when  we  struck 
your  wagon-wheel  tracks  away  back.  We  followed 
them  till  they  were  swallowed  up  by  the  snow,  and  if 
it  hadn't  been  for  Shep's  barking — but  whose  horse  you 
got?" 

"  It's  father's— it's  my  father's,"  exclaimed  Terry, 
roused  to  energy.  "  And  he's  in  the  wagon,  under  that 
buffalo  robe.  I  found  him — found  him  on  the  way. 
Let's  hurry.  Please  hurry.  You  show  me  where  to 

go" 

"  What !  "  rapped  Sol.    "  Alive,  is  he  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  but  I've  covered  him  up.     He  wouldn't  be 

alive,  though,  if  I  hadn't  found  him.    Found  him  on 


294  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

the  prairie,  down  in  the  snow.  Where  do  we  go,  now  ? 
Back?" 

And  with  frantic  "  Gee !  "  and  "  Hep !  "  and  "  Gee ! " 
again,  Terry  turned  his  team. 

"  You  just  follow  us,"  bade  Harry.  "  Can  you  hold 
out  ?  Only  a  mile  or  two." 

"  I'm  all  right,  but  I  want  to  get  there  quick,"  an- 
nounced Terry. 

Up  to  the  seat  he  gladly  climbed.  Harry  and  Sol 
led  forth,  the  oxen  followed  almost  of  their  own  ac- 
cord, and  the  wagon  lumbered  after.  The  oxen  now 
required  little  urging;  they  seemed  to  know  that  they 
were  being  taken  home.  From  his  seat  Terry  had  not 
the  least  idea  of  direction.  Jounced  and  bounced  and 
swayed,  as  the  wagon  struck  the  prairie  humps  and  hol- 
lows, he  clung  fast,  and  peered  expectantly.  Quite  to 
his  own  surprise,  on  a  sudden  out-buildings  loured  be- 
fore him,  and  here  he  was,  in  the  ranch  yard,  with  the 
cabin  standing  waiting  and  its  door  flung  wide  by  his 
mother,  framed  and  gazing. 

"  Oh,  Terry !    Are  you  here  ?    Did  they  find  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  cried  Terry,  tumbling  off  in  haste.  "  And 
I'brought  father!  He's  in  the  wagon." 

Harry  and  Sol  also  were  off  in  a  twinkling.  Even 
while  his  mother  was  exclaiming  they  had  lifted  the 
snowy  hummock  from  the  wagon  bed,  and  were  carry- 
ing buffalo  robe  and  all  into  the  cabin.  Terry  bolted 
after.  So  did  Shep. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

FATHER  RICHARDS   WAKES  UP 

How  warm  and  cosy  it  was  in  here,  out  of  the  storm, 
with  the  fire-place  blazing  high,  ruddily  lighting  the 
early  dusk.  Mrs.  Richards  already  had  opened  the  bed 
curtains ;  and  marching  straight  Harry  and  Sol  depos- 
ited their  burden.  Off  came  the  snowy  buffalo  robe. 

"  It  is  he !    It  is,  Terry !  "  ejaculated  Terry's  mother. 

For  there  had  been  no  mistake.  Father  Richards 
this  was,  looking  perfectly  natural,  and  as  if  asleep. 
His  eyes  were  closed,  but  he  was  breathing  regularly — 
he  was  a  little  thin,  maybe — he  seemed  all  right,  though 
— hadn't  been  frozen. 

The  two  men  stripped  off  his  outer  clothes,  tucked 
him  under  the  blankets,  and  reaching  rubbed  his  hands 
and  feet.  Mrs.  Richards  bustled  to  heat  some  milk  on 
the  stove.  Terry  dumbly  watched.  He  was  cold  and 
wet  and  hungry,  too,  but  he  did  not  mind  that.  Only — 
there  did  not  appear  to  be  anything  that  he  could  do. 

"  Guess  I'd  better  put  up  the  oxen,"  he  said,  gruffly, 
a  lump  in  his  throat. 

"  Not  much !  "  And  Harry  sprang  up  alertly.  "  I 
rather  guess  you  won't.  You  stay  where  you  are. 
You've  done  your  stint.  When  your  father  wakes  he'll 
want  to  see  you." 

295 


296  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

Out  darted  Harry,  into  the  storm,  to  care  for  the 
oxen.  With — "  I  think  your  husband's  going  to  be  all 
right,  ma'am.  He's  warm  as  toast  and  beginning  to 
sweat,"  Sol  followed.  Terry's  mother  turned  on  Terry 
and  seized  him  in  a  rapturous  hug. 

"  Oh,  Terry !  To  think,  you  brought  him !  And 
you  came  home  in  all  this  storm !  Where  did  you  find 
him  ?  But  you  can  tell  us  later.  First  you  must  change 
your  clothes,  and  drink  some  hot  milk.  Part  of  the 
milk  is  for  you.  You  can  change  your  clothes  down 
here,  dear,  where  it's  warm.  I'll  get  your  things." 

"  Can't  I  wait  ?  "  queried  Terry.  "  I'm  dry,  and  he's 
liable  to  wake." 

"  You  must  drink  your  milk,  anyway,  and  draw 
close  to  the  fire,"  bade  Mother  Richards.  "Oh,  I 
wonder  if  he'll  know  us." 

Terry  luxuriously  sprawled  on  a  stool  before  the 
splendid  fire,  and  sipped,  and  steamed,  and  kept  watch 
on  his  father.  His  mother  hovered  anxiously,  wait- 
ing too.  Now  and  then  she  laid  a  hand  gently  on 
Father  Richards'  forehead — and  suddenly  he  opened 
his  eyes. 

For  an  instant  she  bent  over  him,  and  Terry  held  his 
breath,  excited. 

"  Ralph!  "  she  said,  softly.  "  Don't  you  know  me? 
I'm  Mary;  and  here's  Terry.  You're  home — home  on 
the  ranch." 

Father  Richards  stared  wonderingly,  but  uttered  no 
sound.  To  the  milk  flew  Mother  Richards,  bore  back 
a  cupful,  put  her  arm  around  his  neck  and  raised  him. 

"  Drink,"  she  said.    "  Please  do.    It's  hot— good." 


FATHER  RICHARDS  WAKES  UP      297 

He  drank,  at  first  tasting,  then  swallowing  eagerly. 
He  drained  to  the  last  drop.  Mother  Richards  let  him 
sink  on  the  pillow,  and  with  a  sigh  he  went  off  to  sleep 
once  more. 

Terry's  mother  turned  with  a  wistful  smile,  and  eyes 
dewy. 

"  Do  you  think  he  knew  us,  Terry  ?  " 

"  He  didn't  say,  but  he  might  have,"  faltered  Terry, 
disappointed.  "  Maybe  he  will  next  time." 

"  Yes,  maybe  he  will  next  time.  We  must  let  him 
sleep.  Anyway,  he  drank  the  milk." 

"  We'll  keep  him,  just  the  same,  whether  he  knows 
us  or  not,  won't  we  ?  "  invited  Terry. 

"Of  course  we  will !    He'll  know  us  some  time." 

Harry  and  Sol  tiptoed  in,  having  done  the  chores. 
But  they  need  not  have  tiptoed,  for  Father  Richards' 
slumber  was  a  sound  one.  He  slept  without  a  move- 
ment except  his  breathing,  all  through  supper,  and 
through  the  evening. 

The  storm  continued,  and  Sol  Judy  stayed  for  the 
night.  He  had  been  here  since  noon.  Lucky  enough, 
too,  that  he  had  stopped ;  for  when  he  and  Harry  had 
ridden  out  to  look  up  Terry,  he  it  was  who  with  his 
plainsman's  eyes  had  discovered  the  fast  fading  wagon 
tracks. 

Before  bedtime  they  looked  through  Father  Rich- 
ards' clothing,  to  see  if  they  could  find  some  informa- 
tion about  him.  And  they  certainly  did.  Inside  his  coat 
pocket  was  a  folded  piece  of  paper,  written  on  with 
lead  pencil.  It  said : 


298  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

To  Whom  This  May  Concern :  My  name  is 
not  Jones,  but  Ralph  Richards.  I  have  a  wife 
and  boy  on  a  farm  in  the  Big  Blue  Valley  of 
Kansas.  Something  hit  me  on  the  head  and 
made  me  lose  my  memory  and  I  went  out  to 
the  Pike's  Peak  country.  Now  I  am  going 
home;  but  if  anything  should  happen  to  me, 
this  will  prove  my  identity,  and  will  declare 
that  I  have  located  some  rich  gold  ground  to 
which  said  wife  and  boy  are  entitled,  on  the 
Platte  River  about  a  day's  journey  into  the 
mountains  from  the  mouth  of  Cherry  Creek. 
Mr.  [but  nobody  could  make  out  the  name, 
because  the  paper  was  so  soggy  and  torn] 
knows  about  it. 

Ralph  Richards. 

And  in  another  pocket  there  was  a  little  sack  of  gold 
flakes! 

"  About  two  hundred  dollars,  I  reckon,"  pronounced 
Sol. 

"  And  he's  got  a  mine,  he  says !  "  exclaimed  Terry. 
"When  he  knows  us  maybe  he'll  take  us  to  it,  ma! 
We'll  pack  up  and  all  go  together." 

"  Not  this  weather,  though,"  laughed  Harry. 

"  Would  you  leave  your  ranch?  "  questioned  Terry's 
mother.  "  The  chickens  and  the  turkey  and  the  buffalo 
calf  and  this  cabin  and  the  fencing  you've  worked  so 
hard  for  and  the  land  you've  cleared?  You  couldn't 
take  those,  to  go  mining  in  the  mountains." 

"  Huh !  "  reflected  Terry.    "  I'll  show  them  to  him, 


FATHER  RICHARDS  WAKES  UP      299 

first.  Perhaps  he'd  rather  stay.  Cracky,  but  he'll  be 
surprised." 

However,  Father  Richards  slept  on;  he  was  still 
asleep  at  bed-time,  when  Terry  and  the  other  men 
climbed  into  the  loft,  and  Mother  Richards  prepared  to 
lie  down  on  a  pallet  of  buffalo  robes  and  blankets,  near 
the  bed,  with  Shep  to  keep  her  company. 

The  morning  broke  fair.  Terry  opened  his  eyes  into 
brightness.  Evidently  the  sky  had  cleared  and  the  sun 
was  shining,  and  they  all  had  slept  rather  late.  He 
listened  intently — but  nobody  was  talking,  below.  His 
father  had  not  waked,  or  else  he  had  gone  to  sleep 
again. 

Mother  Richards,  though,  was  stirring  about,  get- 
ting breakfast ;  the  aroma  of  coffee  floated  up  into  the 
loft,  and  Terry  followed  close  after  Harry  and  Sol, 
down  the  ladder.  His  mother  put  her  finger  on  her 
lips,  and  shook  her  head,  as  token  that  they  all  should 
be  quiet.  She  had  drawn  the  curtains  before  the  bed. 
When  Terry  peeked  in  between  them,  he  saw  his  father 
lying  almost  exactly  as  he  had  been  lying,  the  evening 
before. 

"  He  did  not  move,  the  night  through,"  whispered 
Mother  Richards. 

"  That's  all  right,"  stated  Sol.    "  It's  the  best  medi- 


cine." 


"  But  he'll  wake  up  some  time,  won't  he  ?  "  persisted 
Terry.  "  Do  you  think  he'll  know  us,  Sol  ?  " 

"  Might — and  again  he  might  not.  Let  him  have  his 
sleep  out,  and  then  maybe  you  can  jog  his  memory  a 
trifle." 


300  THE  BOY  SETTLER 

"  We  must  be  patient,  Terry  boy/1  added  Harry. 
"  You  know  him,  anyway,  and  here  he  is,  safe.  That's 
one  comfort." 

So  they  sat  down  to  breakfast.  Outside,  the  snow 
had  drifted  to  the  window  sills ;  the  world  was  a  dazzl- 
ing white.  Assuredly,  a  great  change  had  come  upon 
the  ranch,  within  twenty-four  hours.  But  nobody 
cared.  There  was  plenty  of  wood  and  food,  the  ani- 
mals all  were  snugly  housed,  here  in  the  cabin  it  was 
warm  and  bright,  and  Father  Richards  had  come  home 
— Terry  himself  had  brought  him. 

They  were  in  the  midst  of  breakfast,  when  the  bed 
creaked  and  the  curtains  waved.  A  voice  feebly  spoke. 
Something  doing,  yonder !  Up  sprang  Terry's  mother ; 
hastened  over,  Terry  at  her  heels.  She  threw  open 
the  curtains.  Father  Richards  was  half  sitting,  gaz- 
ing. 

For  a  moment  he  looked  upon  them,  they  looked 
upon  him. 

"  Why ,"  he  murmured. 

"Don't  you  know  me,  Ralph?"  asked  Terry's 
mother..  "  You're  home.  This  is  Mary,  and  that  is 
Terry." 

"  And  the  ranch  is  all  ready,"  burst  Terry.  "  The 
grasshoppers  ate  us,  but  we  put  in  more  stuff,  and  we've 
got  a  cow  and  a  calf  and  a  tame  turkey  and  a  lot  of 
fences,  and  a  partner,  and  I  killed  a  panther,  and  so  did 
Shep  and  Harry," 

"Sh!"  warned  Terry's  mother.  "Don't  you  re- 
member us,  Ralph  ?  "  she  entreated. 

Father  Richards  was  stroking  his  beard  with  his 


FATHER  RICHARDS  WAKES  UP      301 

hand — a  familiar  gesture;  but  his  eyes  were  wide  and 
puzzled. 

"Remember?  Why — just  who  are  you,  and  how 
came  I  here  ?  " 

"  Get  that  letter,"  advised  Sol.    "  It'll  jog  him." 

"  Where  is  it?  "  said  Harry,  now  jumping  up,  also. 

"  No.  Wait !  "  cried  Terry.  He  ran  for  the  hat  on 
the  peg,  grabbed  it  off,  and  thrust  it  into  his  father's 
hand.  "  There !  Don't  you  know  that  old  hat,  dad  ?  " 

Father  Richards  turned  it  over,  examining  it  inside 
and  out.  Suddenly  his  face  lighted  right  up,  and  he 
snapped  his  fingers  exultantly. 

"  That's  my  hat !  "  he  declared,  in  full,  natural  voice. 
"  Now  I  remember.  I  lost  it,  didn't  I  ?  Wore  it  out 
from  Ohio !  By  ginger!  I  started  from  the  mountains 
— how  I  got  here  I  can't  say,  but  you're  Mary,  and 
you're  Terry,  and  there's  Shep — old  Shep !  Hooray !  " 

"  Hooray!  "  echoed  Terry. 

How  the  three  hugged  and  kissed.  Terry's  mother 
finally  straightened  up,  flushed  and  radiant. 

"  Oh ! "  she  uttered,  looking  around  as  if  scarcely 
decided  whether  to  laugh  or  cry  with  joy.  "  What  a 
merry  Christmas  we're  going  to  have!" 


END 


CROWELL'S  SCOUT  BOOKS 

By  JAMES   OTIS 
BOY  SCOUTS  IN  THE  MAINE  WOODS 

Realistic  adventures  in  guarding  a  great  tract  of  tim- 
ber during  one  summer.    Illustrated  by  Charles  Copeland. 

BOY  SCOUTS  IN  A  LUMBER  CAMP 

How  two  patrols  carried  through  to  success  a  big  lum- 
bering contract    Illustrated  by  Charles  Copeland. 


By   PERCY   K.    FITZHUGH 
ALONG  THE  MOHAWK  TRAIL; 

OR,  BOY  SCOUTS  ON  LAKE  CHAMPLAIN 


lively  doings   of  real  Boy  Scouts   among 
Illustrated  by  Remington  Schuyler. 


The   lively  doings   of  real  Boy  Scouts   among  historic 
scenes. 


FOR  UNCLE  SAM,  BOSS; 

OR,   BOY    SCOUTS    AT    PANAMA 

A  rousing  story,  telling  how  the  boys  of  "Along  the 
Mohawk  Trail"  render  important  services  to  the  United 
States  in  connection  with  the  great  Canal.  4  illustrations. 

IN  THE  PATH  OF  LA  SALLE; 

OR,  BOY  SCOUTS  ON  THE  MISSISSIPPI 

The  interesting  experiences  of  the  main  characters  in 
"For  Uncle  Sam,  Boss,"  while  boating  down  the  Father  of 
Waters.  Their  varied  adventures  finally  carry  them  as 
far  as  Mexico.  Illustrated  by  Fisk. 


By  EDWIN   L.   SABIN 
PLUCK  ON  THE  LONG  TRAIL; 

OR,  BOY  SCOUTS  IN  THE  ROCKIES 

A  stirring  narrative  of  packing,  trailing,  and  camping 
in  the  West.  Illustrated  by  Clarence  Rowe. 

Each  Volume,  12mo,  cloth,  6O  centa  net. 

A  fine  series  of  wholesome,  realistic,  and  entertaining 
stories  for  boys  by  juvenile  writers  of  recognized  stand- 
ing, who  have  a  thorough  knowledge  of  Boy  Scouts  and 
of  real  scouting  in  the  sections  of  the  country  in  which 
the  scenes  of  their  books  are  laid. 


THOMAS  Y.   CROWELL  COMPANY 
NEW  YORK 


THE    BAR   B    SERIES 


By   EDWIN   L.   SABIN 
BAR  B  BOYS; 

OR,  THE  YOUNG   COW-PUNCHERS 

A  picturesque  story  of  Western  ranch  life.  Illustrated 
by  Charles  Copeland. 

RANGE  AND  TRAIL 

The  Bar  B  Boys  in  winter  and  on  the  long  trail  from 
New  Mexico  to  the  home  ranch.  Illustrated  by  Clarence 
Rowe. 

CIRCLE  K; 

OR,  FIGHTING  FOR  THE  FLOCK 

The  ranchmen  are  here  engaged  in  the  sheep  industry, 
and  the  story  has  the  same  real  Western  flavor.  Illus- 
trated by  Clarence  Rowe. 

OLD  FOUR-TOES; 

OR,  HUNTERS   OF  THE  PEAKS 

The  two  boys,  Phil  and  Chet,  Grizzly  Dan  and  others, 
figure  in  this  fascinating  account  of  hunting,  trapping, 
and  Indian  encounters.  Illustrated  by  Clarence  Rowe. 

TREASURE  MOUNTAIN; 

OR,  THE   YOUNG  PROSPECTORS 

Tells  of  the  locating  of  an  old  gold  mine  near  the  top 
of  a  mountain  peak.  One  of  the  liveliest  books  in  the 
series.  Illustrated  by  Clarence  Rowe. 

SCARFACE  RANCH; 

OR,  THE  YOUNG  HOMESTEADERS 

Two  young  heroes  here  take  up  some  government  land 
and  engage  most  successfully  in  cattle  raising  on  their 
own  account  Illustrated  by  Clarence  Rowe. 

Each    Volume    Svo,    cloth,    $1.00    net. 

Also  by  MR.   SABIN 
PLUCK  ON  THE  LONG  TRAIL; 

OR,  BOY  SCOUTS  IN  THE  ROCKIES 

A  stirring  narrative  of  packing,  trailing,  and  camping 
in  the  West.  Illustrated  by  Clarence  Rowe.  12mo,  cloth. 

$0.50  net 

BEAUFORT  CHUMS 

Tells  of  the  adventures  of  two  boys,  a  boat  and  a  dog 
on  the  Mississippi.  Every  boy  will  read  it  eagerly.  Illus- 
trated by  Charles  Copeland.  12mo $0.75 

THOMAS  Y.   CROWELL  COMPANY 

NEW  YORK 


THE  "SILVER  FOX  FARM"  SERIES 

BY  JAMES   OTIS 

THE  WIRELESS  STATION  AT  SILVER  FOX  FARM. 

Illustrated  by  Charles  Copeland.    8vo. 

A  bright,  vividly  written  narrative  of  the  adventures  of 
Paul  Simpson  and  Ned  Bartlett  in  helping  the  former's  father 
start  a  farm  for  raising  silver  foxes  on  Barren  Island,  twelve 
miles  off  the  Maine  coast. 

THE  AEROPLANE  AT  SILVER  FOX  FARM. 

Illustrated  by  Charles  Copeland.    8vo. 

An  absorbing  story  of  the  building  and  working  of  an  aero- 
plane on  Barren  Island. 

BUILDING  AN  AIRSHIP  AT  SILVER  FOX  FARM. 

Illustrated  by  Charles  Copeland.    8vo. 

Encouraged  by  their  success  in  aeroplane-building,  the  boys 
of  Silver  Fox  Farm  go  in  for  a  full-fledged  airship. 

AIRSHIP  CRUISING  FROM  SILVER  FOX  FARM. 

Illustrated  by  Charles  Copeland.    8vo. 

A  further  account  of  the  marvels  performed  by  the  Silver 
Fox  Farmers,  including  the  story  of  the  thrilling  rescue  of  a 
shipwrecked  yachting  party  by  means  of  their  great  air-cruiser. 


BOY  SCOUT  BOOKS 

BOY  SCOUTS  IN  THE  MAINE  WOODS. 
BOY  SCOUTS  IN  A  LUMBER  CAMP. 

12mo,  illustrated.    Each,  50  cents  net. 

OTHER  BOOKS  BY  JAMES  OTIS 
FOUND  BY  THE:  CIRCUS. 

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Joel   Harford  Joey  at  the  Fair  Two  Stowaway** 

12mot  illustrated.    Each,  75  cents  postpaid. 

A  Short  Cruise  How  the  Twins  Captured  a  Hessian 

Aunt  Hannah  and  Seth  How  Tommy  Saved  the  Barn 

Dick  in  the  Desert  Our  Uncle  the  Major 

Christmas  at  Deacon  The  Wreck  of  the  Circus 

Hackett'a 

8vo,  illustrated.    Each,  35  cents  postpaid. 

Dorothy's  Spy 
12mo,  illustrated.    25  cents  net. 

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14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

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Berkeley 


